[ WP ] Congress just passed the Prohibition Act of 2016 . Coffee is now a Class 1 illegal drug .

The local diner had seemed like a ghost town these past few months. At first, the ma and pa breakfast joint had managed to stay afloat by pushing their teabag sales. However, the once jovial clatter of silverware would steadily die away over time. Those nostalgic breakfast aromas just didn ’ t smell as sweet as they used to, and tea prices had jacked up into the stratosphere since the prohibition. 
 I sipped my earl grey in silence and nursed my eggs thoughtlessly. I had been a regular at this joint since I moved into town four or five years ago. I spent my mornings here grading papers and tapping away at grant applications and conference abstracts. At first, the constant, soft chatter made it easy for me to focus, and refills were free. Now, my mornings were spent here habitually. When the prohibition act was announced, I had honestly expected the diner to cut its losses and shut down immediately. The owners were beyond retirement, and I liked to think that there was a cushy 401k waiting for them. However, my optimism was proven wrong by the diner ’ s vain fortitude. Week by week, the wait staff would steadily whittle down until Dana, one of the owners, began taking orders by herself while her husband cooked in the back. The circles under her eyes seemed to grow darker every time she came by to refill my mug with hot water, and her salt and pepper hair had become a nest of silver flyways. I offered her a wan smile as she came by to fill my mug for the third time, which she returned unenthusiastically. I reached for the mug, mostly to warm my trembling hands. I never really liked tea. 
 When Dana swung open the doors to the kitchen, I could catch a glimpse of a small tube TV tuned to a news story covering the recent rise in drug arrests and the resulting police revenue. I didn ’ t need to watch to know the details. I had seen my students swapping baggies for bills in the depths of the library. The campus newspaper did a piece last week on changes to RA training that included smelling for hot coffee in the dorms. At least in my undergrad, all I had to worry about was the stench of reefer ratting me out. Even Ritalin was easier to disguise amidst the library bookshelves. Coffee, however, was too familiar. We had all encountered it in one way or another through taste or smell. Knowing you enemy is half the battle after all. It made the campus police ’ s job easy. 
 A cold chill swept through the diner that made me turn up my collar. I glanced over my shoulder to see an oily trucker grumble over to a corner booth. At least Dana had one reliable customer demographic. One trembling hand returned to my tea mug while the other reached for the time on my phone. It was already quarter after. “ He ’ s late, ” I thought as I agitatedly sipped my tea. 
 I tapped the icon for the BBC news app and swiped through world news. The papers were flooded with stories narrating the economic crashes that followed the prohibition. Fast food franchises were scrambling for alternatives in light of outrageous tea prices. While some managed to stay afloat, Tim Hortons and Starbucks were disappearing one by one worldwide. They were too dependent on their coffee sales, and didn ’ t have enough time to recover. Even more tragic were the financial crises running rampant through countries like Brazil, Vietnam, Columbia, and Indonesia. Economies were crashing left and right. I ’ m no economist, but their market must have been hugely dependent on U.S sales. The timing probably didn ’ t help either—the act had passed so quickly and suddenly, there was no time to find a way to buffer their losses. The whole thing spelled out disaster from the start. 
 I scrolled despondently through an editorial accusing the U.S of instating the act as a purposeful blow against those countries who largely depended on coffee sales in America. There had been plenty of speculation on this these past few months. I wasn ’ t sure what to make of it, but a bill that passes through Congress that fast is going to come out a mess and smell like shit. 
 Another blast of cold air, and I look over my shoulder to see a grizzly looking trucker stomping the snow off of his shoes. He scans the room, resting his gaze on my table. I see him glance briefly at Dana before shuffling over to sit across from me at my booth. 
 “ Jake. ” I nod. 
 “ Mel. ” 
 “ How ’ s the rig? ” 
 “ She ’ s running. ” 
 “ Can I buy you breakfast? ” 
 He shakes his head. “ Just OJ and toast is fine. I can ’ t fart around here long. Got a job to do. ” 
 I nod, somewhat impatiently. “ Got any smokes? ” 
 He slides the pack across the table. “ Take it. I should quit anyways. ” 
 I smile. “ You always say that. ” 
 He grunts in response. Dana stops at our table and I do some quick banking on my phone while she takes his order. When she returns with his food, I drop a twenty on the table and tell her to keep the change. She takes the bill without a word before disappearing once more through the kitchen doors. 
 “ Drive safe. It ’ s icy out there, ” I say to Jake as I grab my bag and slip the pack of cigs into my pocket. He grunts in response and I slip out the front door without another word. After I pull my car door shut and start the engine, I reach into the back seat for my JetBoil, a ceramic mug, and a bottled water. The analog on my dash tells me that I still have half an hour before I teach my first class. Plenty of time. I fill the JetBoil and plug it into the lighter socket. While it heats up, I reach into the glovebox for a dirty handkerchief and some paperclips. NPR drones in the background as I clip the handkerchief around the rim of the mug. I reach into my pocket for the pack of cigs. I glance around the parking lot carefully before peeling back the foil. The aroma hits me instantly and I let out a soft sigh. I already feel the shakes subsiding as I dump the contents of the pack onto the handkerchief. “ Just add water. ” 
 I never used to like it black, but when the brain fog hits you, it ’ s difficult to be picky. When the last of the hot water is done seeping through the handkerchief, I crumple it into a ball and stuff it under the seat. Another quick glance around before I take in a deep breath of the aroma. Tenure already feels closer. The first sip hits me right in the soul, and the acrid aftertaste eases my agitation. I sink back into my car seat and smile. 

