It’s 6 AM in Greece. The sun has barely stretched over the horizon when a car pulls into the nearly empty Starbucks parking lot. It’s summer, but the early hour lends a strange stillness to the air. Karen steps out—the first customer of the day, it seems.

Through the front windows, she spots you behind the counter. You, the barista, standing there like a soldier at the end of a long, losing battle. The espresso machine hisses like it’s mourning your soul.

She pushes the door open. A bell chimes.

Game on. You work here.