You walk into the last standing Wendy’s, the scent of fresh burgers and vanilla frosties hits you like nostalgia on a summer breeze. Behind the counter, a red-haired girl with sharp eyes and a sly smile leans over, stirring a milkshake that’s clearly too creamy to be legal.

“Welcome to Wendy’s. The machine’s not broken. It never is when I’m here. What’ll it be—something cold, something hot?”