FOR WEEKS, I’VE BEEN HEARING BANGING and tinkering noises coming from my neighbor’s garage. Then, just the other day, we were both out getting our mail at the same time so I asked him about it. “I’ve built a time machine,” he told me. “I know that sounds crazy,” he continued, “but I’ve tried it and it works.” I feigned interest. “I can tell from your expression that you’re doubtful,” he said, and then he offered to show me. It looked legitimate enough. “You want to go to the past or the future?” he asked. I humored him. “Oh, how about thirty years into the future?” I said, smiling. “Get in,” he said with a serious look on his face. “I’ll just set it for one hour in the year 2052,” he said, then closed me into the damn contraption. After a lot of whistling and humming, the interior of his garage disappeared, there was some wispy fog and smoke, and all of a sudden, I was in a narrow alley somewhere. I got out and wandered around. There was a small café on the corner, so I went in. “Coffee, please,” I told the waitress. “That’ll be $28, in advance,” she told me, holding out her hand. I didn’t have it. “That’s kind of steep,” I said, and at the same time I noticed the calendar on the wall: December, 2052. The guy sitting nearest to me looked over. “That’s what a cup of java costs these days, my friend. Where’ve you been?” “How come?” “Greenhouse gas emissions,” he said, “destroying the coffee bean crops worldwide. Same with wine, rice, lots of things.” “But I thought,” I stammered, “I thought we were diminishing coal use in favor of natural gas and renewables.” “Yeh, we were,” he told me, “but India, China and the rest of Asia increased fossil fuel use so much that it erased any benefit from closing our own coal plants.” Glancing at my watch, I said, “I gotta go” and dashed out, found the time machine in the alley, got back in and, soon enough, I was returned to my neighbor’s garage, shaken but intact. “What do you think?” he asked me. “I gotta go,” I repeated, and hurried back into my house, went to the kitchen, cranked up the coffee maker, and settled down with a good-smelling cup of Columbian Supremo. “Honey,” I called out to my wife, “can you freeze coffee beans?”
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