View source for FFF02 (Dec 10, 1988)

<span style="font-size: 40px;"><strong><center>FFF02</center></strong></span>
__TOC__
<h1>Summary of Receipt</h1>
<span style="font-size: 20px">Summary</span>
<h1>Transcript</h1>
<span>DINER RECEIPT<br>
RECEIPT NUMBER: FFF02<br>
RECEIPT DATE: 12 10 1988<br>
MANAGER TITLE: TRUSTED ASSOCIATE<br>
RECEIPT NOTES:<br>

I come back from a horrible little isolated hole in the wall to… more of the same. Not even the décor can lift my mood. It’s hard to enjoy the season when surrounded by the hum of security locks and the creeping sensation that the Cafe is as cut off from the world as it can possibly be. Mon nouvel ami, don’t you think running the “neons” 24 hours a day is a waste of electricity? Surely, they were meant for the darkest hours only—not to fend off a few Zulus.

Or perhaps you fear the sun is setting too early? That the Cold is coming too fast? Perhaps. But turning on the “neons” all the time—it feels like overkill, doesn’t it? Our Cafe—our little “House of Heaven”—it can only stay here for a few weeks. A month at most. Are you so opposed to the holiday season that you’d shutter our doors this tightly to escape it? Or is it this particular season you’re trying to avoid?

You know, mon nouvel ami, it would be so much easier to understand what you’re doing—<em>why you’re doing it</em>—if you’d just tell us. Then again, what else is there to do here but talk? We don’t need CaDComs transcribing every word. Meticulous note-keeping may be a virtue, but if it’s keeping you from explaining what we’re running from… well, the only notes left will read, <em>“Here lies the Cafe. Out of business far too soon.”</em>

La dame got off easy, going home for the season. And while I can’t currently say this to you in person, I do love what you’ve done with the Cafe. It’s a shame no one else can see it right now. But I see it. And I love it. You always manage to bring light where there doesn’t seem to be any.</span>