Island of the Unemployed

BEER IS BEER, HONEY

The center of town was run-down to the point of depression, not just for how it looked then, but from the contrast to years gone by. There was a time when Sunny Days lived up to its billing. A time when hardworking employees were rewarded for years of labor with a comfortable place to live out their last years. But those days had long since passed.

Pressure to grow profitability increased with each passing year until it was determined the company could no longer afford to fund the community. So, the plug was pulled.

The effect was immediate. Goods in stores became scarce. Surrogates serving the elderly disappeared. Land transports stopped working, and had to be mothballed. All the underpinnings that held the island society together fell apart. And still, the company continued to send people. A cargo ship replaced a cruise ship. Death rates skyrocketed, and chaos ruled.

The crisis would have been an umitigated disaster if not for the efforts of an enigmatic young man named Simon, who took it upon himself to organize the residents into a functioning society. The economy only barely worked, but they managed to establish conditions that were, at least, livable.

Residents had just finished their five-hour workday, or however many hours they were able to contribute. Most did their daily shopping before heading home. The residents moved at long-sufferingly slow paces, but they didn't seem to mind. There was no reason to hurry. No treadmill to keep up with. The one commodity that was not in short supply on the island was time.

It was the third day of the week. River and company had finished their first day of work, and were heading to a place Simon recommended to River.

Most of their group still wore the same standard-issue clothing given to them when they were first taken from the Grid. River and Sasha were the only exceptions. River's bloodied fatigues needed to be replaced quickly. So, he searched the local shops, and picked out an itchy old pair of plaid wool pants and a short-sleeved shirt with a flowery print and a ripped pocket in front.

The story of their arrival quickly became island legend. Everyone wanted a firsthand accounting of their story. The otherwise sleepy streets came alive when one of them was spotted, making it was difficult for any of them to get from point A to point B. "Oh! You must be one of those nice young people we heard about. How is it again you came here?" They were so tired of repeating their story that they began to make parts of it up just to amuse themselves.

"There's the place!" River pointed to a sign down the street with the words Boar's Head Inn on it.

"Oh, thank God!" Deja said. "If one more person asks me to tell our story I think I'll lose my mind."

They approached the premises and peered through the nearly opaque shop window, plastered with years of accumulated dirt. The interior was barren, except for a couple of wooden tables surrounded by wooden chairs. The walls lacked any variety of decoration except for a painting of a boar prominently displayed on the wall opposite the window.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Deja asked. "It doesn't look open."

"Pretty sure," River replied.

Adrienne stood by the slightly ajar door with a broken doorknob in his hand. "The door's unlocked. It looks empty, though."

"Have a seat!" someone yelled with a loud, shaky voice. "I'll be with you in a minute!"

"Vat kind of place ees this?" Sasha asked.

"I don't know," River replied. "Simon said it was a place where people liked to meet and talk. T assumed it was a restaurant."