We've been living in a dream.

Which, like many cafes, would draw in customers by having local artists perform every weeknight. They weren’t picky. They’d sign on poets, musicians, comedians, ventriloquist – even magicians. Anyone who might liven the place up a bit. 

For the sake of variety, and maybe employee morale, each employee would be in charge of signing on a performer for the night on which that employee was scheduled to close. Generally, schedules were decided a week or two in advance, and this was usually enough time to scout out performers. Worst case scenario, they’d just do an open-mic night. 

One week, Alice, a barista at this cafe (who made it a habit to go scouting the instant she received her schedule), signed an instrumental post-hardcore band to play her closing night.  

Unfortunately, a few days later, Alice’s father fell ill, and she had to take the next week off to drive out to Utah and see him. Two days before she was scheduled to work, she asked Tim to cover her shift. 

Tim would generally wait until the last minute to find a performer. He thought this was normal, and hadn’t considered that Alice might have already scheduled one. Still, two days was an awfully short time to scout, so Tim figured he’d just ask an old high school friend of his to recite some of his spoken word and call it a day.

On the night in question, Tim goes in to cover for Alice as agreed, but is surprised to find waiting for him not just his highschool friend, but also the band Alice had scheduled.

Tim is in a tricky spot. Given the effort they’d already made to come out to the cafe, he can’t exactly refuse to pay either the band or his highschool friend. So Tim figures he’ll explain the situation to his boss tomorrow, and in the meantime ask the band to play at one end of the cafe, and his friend to recite his spoken-word at the other end. 

The cafe is a bit too small to accommodate. 

As the night wears on, the patrons listening to the spoken-word poet get annoyed that they can barely hear him over the band’s instrumentals. Sensing this, the poet tries to recite more loudly. 

Similarly, the patrons listening to the band get annoyed with the poetry. Which is generally off rhythm and terribly dissonant with the notes being played. Sensing this, the band plays louder. 

As a result, the patrons listening to the poet yet again have difficulty hearing him, and so again he recites more loudly. And again the patrons listening to the band find the dissonance grating, and so the band plays louder still. 

This back and forth goes on for a good twenty minutes – louder and louder between band and poet, until the poet is screaming at the top of his lungs, partially in an effort to ensure his poetry is heard by his patrons, but largely out of sheer anger at the band, who is now ruining his favorite poem. 

As the poem approaches its conclusion. the poet’s face reddens; the veins in his temples begin to throb visibly as he gasps for air, desperately screaming out the final stanza, almost collapsing a lung as he nears its final line, absolutely determined not to break rhythm. 

With the very last bit of air in his chest he finishes his poem. And as it so happens, at the very same time the band finishes playing its song. 

For the next three seconds, all is silent. There’s a loud clink as one slackjawed patron’s fork falls from his hand and into an empty tea cup. 

And then, deafening, unrestrained cheering and applause. 

Wood engravings with hand highlighting, written by the principal of Public School No. 12 in New York City with the goal “to present all the distinguishing principles in physical Astronomy with as few words as possible”.