Welcome To Aftermath

Mosley heard about the world's end on the radio while driving home. It surprised her but didn't upset her, not at first. She walked into the grubby apartment she shared with her friend, Artie. He sat in his beat-up armchair reading on his Kindle.

Without acknowledging him, she slipped off her shoes, dropped her keys on the floor, shimmied out of her pants, and took her bra off through her sleeve. This apathetic undressing in the living room was not her usual behavior. Artie looked at her, puzzled.

She collapsed on the shabby couch next to Artie's chair. "Art, you ever think about your last meal?"

"Okay then," Artie shrugged, "I haven't. Why? Is that weird?"

"Not weird," she replied, "but overthinking is your thing. That you haven't thought about the one thing that is definitely going to happen is unusual."

"Bad day?" he asked.

"Heard the news yet?" she replied. He nodded no. She continued, "Well then, let's have a drink and plan a shopping list."

Mosley and Artie were roommates and best friends. They were also restaurant industry "lifers" who met working at what would turn out to be the worst restaurant either of them would ever work at. As a result, they knew that humanity had, in fact, not had a good run, and this was probably for the best. They proceeded to do what they did most nights. They got drunk. Artie even broke out his bottle of Flor De Cana 25. Now that humanity was headed toward the great cosmic clock-out, it was time.

At first, it was a silent toast. Then they talked about how the end of bulgogi, negronis, canelés, and Mexican pizza was the actual loss. But as always happened with the two of them, they began to make plans after a couple of drinks.

"The problem I'm having is that there's so much I want to eat," said Artie. "Have you ever seen the movie 'La Grande Bouffe?'"

"No," she replied.

"Bourdain once wrote about it in 'Lucky Peach'. In it, three guys make this elaborate ornate meal and eat themselves to death. It's truly revolting. Dude shits himself to death - but yeah, that's what I think about when it comes to last meals. Giant feast."

They were in agreement. They needed good food and a lot of it.

Mosley also intended to have as much sex as possible. She planned on calling ex-girlfriends, ex-boyfriends, and every crush to see if they were available for a farewell fondle or fuck.

Maybe she could even find someone for Artie?

Artie was her soulmate, but not in a romantic sense. Even as a roommate, she knew she drove him nuts. All the same, they were almost inseparable. Now that the end of humanity was on its way, there was even a chance they'd die together. Why not make sure his exit was a good one?

Later in the evening, but hours before they started peeing in the backyard, Mosley asked him, "What would make your life complete?"

He frowned, paused, and looked at his feet. "I have a bad answer."

She was invested, "Oh?" 

He was reluctant, "I'd like to open a restaurant."

She shook her head, "Why is that a bad answer?"

He scowled, "How is it a good answer?"

"Maybe it's not great," she laughed, "but I get it. We've spent years thinking about restaurants. We're constantly complaining about bad restaurants, bad managers, terrible coworkers. You want to go out on top. You want to make a restaurant that lives up to your ideals. I get it. Owning a restaurant is miserable. Most fail. You can have great food, great concept, great location and still fail and fail badly. Plus, you can't leave it alone for a second. It's like a terrible marriage. But right now - now - there's no risk! You can't fail."

He wrinkled his nose," That sounds kind of desperate."

"Okay," she propped her elbows on the table and leaned over her glass, "You like to take care of people. It's what you do. It's what you're good at. Everyone you've ever known is facing extinction. You want to take care of them. Do you have a name for this restaurant at the end of the world?"

"I do." he shrugged, "It's been percolating ever since Parva closed. I've wanted to open a place called 'Aftermath.'"

Parva Laminas was the last restaurant Artie and Mosely had worked at together. The brainchild of Artie's friend Homer, they were all certain it would succeed. They were all wrong. The doors closed in less than a year.

Homer was the Chef-Owner. Artie was the general manager, and Mosley ran the bar.

The restaurant went from being a dream to a nightmare faster than anyone imagined. While Homer was listed as one of the owners, his financial stake was comparatively small. The actual owner had been a silent partner, a real estate developer who wanted a prestige restaurant.

Though the silent partner knew little about restaurants, he refused to stay silent when the business didn't perform as expected. Soon, Homer was panicking. His panic put the silent partner in control, and his choices weren't always in the restaurant's or its employees' best interest.

Every night ended with Artie and Mosley at the bar. They would stress drink, and complain until well into the early morning.

Eventually, Homer and Artie's friendship crumbled. The last straw was when Artie caught the silent partner dipping into the tip pool to cover his bills. While Homer had known this was happening, he had chosen to remain silent. Artie quit once he learned of Homer's knowledge. Mosley left with Artie, and the doors were permanently closed by the end of the week.

Artie had worked at restaurants that had closed before. But this had destroyed a friendship, leading him to consider leaving the restaurant business for good.

Now, he explained the name to Mosley. Drunk on expensive rum, he talked about how he considered anything he did at that point to be picking up pieces in the "aftermath."

The end of the world was around the corner. No one would be around in that aftermath, so this was their opportunity to celebrate in advance. At that moment, while two friends commiserated about the end of humanity, the last great restaurant was born.

The menu would be determined by what they could find, steal, or bargain for.

The clientele would be anyone looking for distraction, companionship, or a good time.

For payment, they agreed to accept things worth trading, drugs, or physical gratification.

The hours of operation would be determined by whatever time was left. 

They found some spray paint in the landlord's basement cubby. At five in the morning, drunk, with neither of them wearing pants, they sprayed their “Grand Opening” sign on the front door.

"Welcome to Aftermath: Restaurant at the End of Humanity."