You had a favorite cafe. Favorite. You loved the place to death, it was relaxing, the staff was polite, everything. You became a regular, walking in every day, in the mornings and evenings. And every day, on your morning trip, you were greeted by a smile from the cashier and a sleepy, half registered wave from a half asleep barista. He was always tired, his mop of dark magenta or black (you couldn’t be sure which) colored hair tied up in a messy ponytail. And when you walked in that morning, he did the same thing.