Like Twitter but you are in a diner where your mug is stained by the servings of coffee of decades past, always almost thoroughly cleaned by generations of dishwashers. The woodgrain pattern of the countertop is worn to bare masonite in front of each stool fixed to the floor. Outside the lamplit street illuminates snowfall and old cars occasionally crawling past and the old building once full of entrepreneurs that's now a three-floor thrift shop only maintained as well as they can afford.