Henry lifted his cup of MoonCheese Coffee and inhaled the dark, rich aroma of juniper dew on an Arizona morning. It was the taste of a cup slow-blended and lovingly matured, like the America we once knew when times were simpler. And at just $15 a bag it was the choice of the wholesome family who appreciate that the best things in life, like grandma's hugs, cost only a little but last a lifetime.
Having taken a sip, he put the cup back on the desk and smiled at his customers. They were an odd group: a man who couldn't sit still, a big-breasted woman and their teenage daughter.
"Okay folks, it looks like the old machine has come up with something." He clicked his mouse. "So, in your current price range, I can get you a return flight to Paris next week."
"That's awesome!" said the father in a scratchy, manic voice. "You, my man, are a wizard of the airways, the man with the plan, the terrestrial guardian of the super speedway! I love ya, buddy!"
Henry watched the customer fidget on his seat, then gave a nervous laugh. "Er, yes." He looked back at the screen. "Well anyway, the price here will cover the airport tax."
"Tax? Move on! Next! You can't tax me. I tax myself. You couldn't possibly afford my tax because my money is like the money of God, man!"
The wife leant forward, her breasts nudging the table and making Henry's coffee spill. "Please excuse him. Too much tiger blood this morning."
Henry glanced at her boobs. "Oh, okay."
"Paris sounds great. I love France. It has great bays."
Henry glanced at her boobs. "Er... yes maam, it does."
The woman glanced at the fax machine. "I like watching bays."
Henry glanced at her boobs. "Oh, me too."
The woman glanced at the fax machine. "I love a good bay watch."
Henry nodded, not sure what else to say. The woman looked again at the fax machine and there was an awkward silence before Henry went back to his screen. "Right. So, yes, the flight departs next week."
"What day next week?" asked the daughter, with a strangely fixed smile.
Henry checked the screen. "Er, let's see now. That's the 15th."
"Is that a Friday?"
"Er, no... that's a Thursday, honey."
"Friday comes afterwards."
Henry looked at her. "...um."
"Fun, fun, fun."
Henry mopped up his coffee. "Oh yes, my kids are fond of Fridays too."
"Do they look forward to the weekends?"
She still had the same smile. It hadn't moved an inch. He wondered if the kid was simple - clearly the father was on drugs and the mother had some sort of silicon addiction. It couldn't have been the best of upbringings.
"They sure do, honey."
"Okay man," yelled the father suddenly, his hand flailing out and hitting his wife's left boob, "Hook us up, compadre! Click that button and beam us through the airways to the realm of Franceland. In fact, don't even book the flight! I'll fly us there myself, on my wings of fire that I sprout from my veins! And all the Frenchmen will be like 'oh my god!' and then go to bed with their plain wives and their ugly children and think how much their life sucks as I fly above them with my burning warlock wings!"
"Er... so... is that a yes?"
"It sure is," said the wife to the fax machine. "I think this will be the breast holiday ever!"
"We so excited," added the daughter, still smiling blankly.
Everyone looked at the fax machine and Henry took a big gulp of his coffee.
It was going to be a long day.