Token
Greg’s mother-in-law drove.
They were leaving the capital for the countryside. He sat in the passenger seat. His wife behind him.
Then the phone rang.
Her eldest son.
The woman instantly tensed behind the wheel.
He told her to answer it.
She said it was inconvenient while driving.
No shit.
He suggested pulling over. A fuel station was ahead anyway.
She agreed without admitting he was right.
She never did.
His wife had spent years craving that kind of approval.
He never cared enough to.
—
The car stopped beside a miserable roadside station somewhere between civilisation and the end of the world.
“I’ll get coffee,” Greg said.
Nobody wanted anything.
—
Inside, the place looked less like a shop and more like a shed surviving a war.
A man sat behind the counter on a raised chair.
Greg greeted him politely.
The man greeted him back.
Barely.
—
The coffee machine had a paper sign taped above the coin slot.
»THE MACHINE WORKS WITH A TOKEN.«
“TOKEN” was underlined.
That should have warned Greg.
Instead, he fed a euro coin into the slot.
The machine swallowed it. And then spat it out.
A beat.
Then the man behind the counter spoke without looking at him.
“It ain’t gon’ work like that.”
The voice carried the quiet satisfaction of a man reliving his favourite moment for the thousandth time.
Greg sighed.
“Would you mind explaining how it works.”
The man still stared out the window.
“It says there. TOKEN.”
He pronounced the word as if it deserved capital letters.
“Where does one acquire such a miraculous object?”
“I sell ’em.”
Of course he did.
—
The token was copper-coloured.
A tiny engraved coffee cup.
COFFEE TOKEN.
No underline this time.
Greg briefly considered stealing it out of principle.
Instead, he bought coffee.
He needed it too badly.
—
The machine asked how much sugar he wanted.
He removed all of it.
“There are only two things worth drinking neat: whisky and coffee,” Greg said.
The man nodded approvingly.
“You got it right.”
Greg almost laughed.
His wife would never believe someone had willingly said that sentence aloud.
—
While the coffee poured, Greg looked into the fridge beside the machine.
Beer. Energy drinks in radioactive colours. Tiny bottles of brutal local liquor.
The entire economic condition of the nation displayed behind fogged glass and LED lighting.
The coffee finished dripping.
“Plastic stirrers behind you,” the man said automatically.
Then remembered.
“Well. You won’t need one.”
For the first time, he sounded friendly.
Greg took the cup. Thanked the man behind the counter.
Went back to the car.
And drank a far better coffee than expected.
No wonder it was guarded so carefully.
-ck