Everyday, with Dr. Elias Locke
The Comet That Ordered Seconds
Sunday, October 25, 2026
Sunday.
A comet pulled into the parking lot of the Last Chance Diner at nine seventeen, which was inconvenient, as we were still serving breakfast and the universe had apparently decided to dine in.
It was a modest comet by astronomical standards, though large enough to occupy three spaces marked COMPACT CARS ONLY.
Miss June walked outside with a pad and pencil.
“Can I help you?”
A voice like gravel in a washing machine replied, “Two biscuits. And whatever you’ve got that isn’t moving.”
“Coffee?”
“Does it come in a cup?”
“Most days.”
“Then three.”
I asked the comet where it was headed.
“Out past Orion.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Momentum.”
“That’ll wear a body out.”
It admitted it had been traveling for eleven thousand years without stopping. Nobody had told it stopping was allowed.
“Well,” I said, “you’ve found the right county. Half the folks here have been waiting on a green light since 1962.”
Miss June returned with a tray. The comet warmed the biscuits simply by looking at them, which saved us a considerable amount of electricity.
“How much do I owe?” it asked.
“Seven dollars and eighty-five cents,” she said.
“I have iron, ice, and a very small amount of nickel.”
“That’ll be a problem.”
I slid eight dollars across the counter.
“Put it on my tab.”
The comet considered this with a silence so long I could hear a star being born.
“Why would you pay for a stranger?”
“Because somebody ought to make the first move.”
At that, the comet rose from the asphalt, dusted off the COMPACT CARS ONLY sign, and headed back into the sky.
Before it left, it turned and asked, “You want anything from Orion?”
“Bring me a postcard,” I said.
Miss June watched the tail disappear over the treeline.
“You think it’ll come back?”
“Probably not,” I said. “But if it does, tell it we close at two.”
She pointed to the three smoking parking spaces.
“And who’s paying for the asphalt?”
“Put it on my tab,” I said.
She looked at me.
“Doctor, you’re gonna need a bigger tab.”
“Yes, ma’am. But for the first time in eleven thousand years, that comet knows where to stop for breakfast.”
A fictional column from the Electric Icarus universe, created by Jon LaBelle
