The café hummed with quiet conversations and the soft clatter of porcelain cups meeting saucers. A faint jazz tune leaked from unseen speakers, filling the air with an artificial sense of nostalgia. The warm glow of hanging bulbs reflected off the wooden surfaces, their polished shine a little too perfect, as if to remind the customers that even authenticity could be manufactured.

Ezra leaned back in his chair, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. The foam swirled in slow spirals, dissolving into the dark liquid beneath. He glanced around the café, his gaze moving over the faces—some buried in screens, others in hushed conversations, but all engaged in something. Consuming.

“This place,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Adam, seated across from him, took a slow sip of his espresso, watching his friend with mild amusement. “What about it?”

Ezra exhaled sharply, setting his spoon down. “It’s the performance of it all. The ‘handcrafted’ drinks, the reclaimed wood tables, the playlist designed to make you feel like you’re in some lost Parisian café. It’s a set, Adam. A well-curated illusion to make people believe they’re part of something meaningful.”

Adam smirked, tilting his cup slightly. “And yet, you’re here. You paid for that coffee. You’re sitting in this ‘set’ like everyone else. What makes you different?”

Ezra met his gaze. “Awareness.”

Adam chuckled, shaking his head. “You think recognizing the illusion sets you apart? That’s the most consumerist mindset of all. The idea that by knowing the trick, you somehow escape it. But tell me—if you truly saw through it, wouldn’t you be somewhere else?”

Ezra frowned, running a hand through his hair. “Where else is there to go?”

Adam leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Exactly.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

The café door chimed as a new customer entered. A man in a tailored coat strode toward the counter, ordering a drink with the confidence of someone who believed his choices mattered. Ezra followed him with his eyes, watching as he tapped his phone against the payment terminal without breaking stride.

“There,” Ezra said, motioning toward the man. “That’s consumerism at its worst. Convenience disguised as choice. He didn’t even pause. Just tapped, paid, moved on. No thought. No engagement.”

Adam raised an eyebrow. “And how did you pay for yours?”

Ezra hesitated, then exhaled. “That’s not the point.”

“It’s exactly the point.” Adam leaned back, crossing his arms. “You want to believe there’s some pure, untainted way to exist, but there isn’t. Even your rejection of it is just another version of the same thing. Anti-consumerism is a product now, Ezra. Minimalism is sold as a lifestyle. Detachment is marketed as freedom.”

Ezra shook his head, his fingers tightening around his cup. “That’s cynical.”

Adam smirked. “It’s honest.”

Outside, the city pulsed with movement. Billboards flickered, pushing new must-haves with slogans that promised happiness, fulfillment, transformation. People walked briskly beneath them, their hands gripping shopping bags, their eyes glued to screens, their lives dictated by algorithms they didn’t even know existed.

Ezra sighed, rubbing his temple. “So what? We just accept it? Let it own us?”

Adam tapped his fingers against the table, considering. “Not accept. Just acknowledge. You can fight a system, but you can’t pretend you’re not part of it. Every choice feeds into it. Even this conversation.”

Ezra scoffed. “How?”

Adam gestured toward their table. “We’re here, in a café designed to make us feel a certain way, drinking overpriced coffee while discussing the evils of consumerism. And later, you’ll probably go home and think about this conversation, maybe even write about it. And in doing so, you’ll turn it into something to be consumed.”

Ezra stared at him, his jaw tightening. “That’s—”

“The truth,” Adam interrupted.

A long silence stretched between them. Around them, the café remained unchanged—the soft lighting, the gentle murmur of voices, the scent of espresso in the air. Everything continued as before.

Ezra exhaled, running a hand over his face. “So, what now?”

Adam took one last sip of his espresso and set the cup down. “Now? We finish our coffee.”

Ezra let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. The absurdity of it all. The inevitability.

Outside, the billboards kept flashing.