EVERYDAY, WITH DR. ELIAS LOCKE
Wednesday, October 28, 2026
The Bureau of Minor Corrections
A fictional column from the Electric Icarus universe, created by Jon LaBelle.
Wednesday.
At eight fourteen, two green gentlemen entered the Last Chance Diner carrying a clipboard and a ruler that appeared to be measuring the distance between facts and opinions.
The taller one wore a necktie. The shorter one wore a baseball cap reading PIE FIXES PROBES.
“Back again?” Miss June asked.
“We represent the Bureau of Minor Corrections,” said the taller gentleman.
“Then start with the coffee machine. It’s been making decaf without authorization.”
“Our jurisdiction is more extensive. We investigate discrepancies between what things are called and what they actually do.”
He pointed at the sign over the door.
“LAST CHANCE DINER. Last chance for what?”
“Breakfast, if you show up after closing,” June replied.
“Your sign is statistically misleading. Most beings receive additional opportunities.”
“Not everybody notices ’em,” I said.
The inspector wrote something down.
“Doctor, are you licensed to make philosophical observations?”
“Not in this county. I do it recreationally.”
The shorter inspector inspected the menu.
“‘Bottomless coffee.’ Yet every cup has a bottom.”
“That is where we keep the coffee,” June explained.
“‘All-day breakfast.’ Does this include the hours when the diner is closed?”
“Only if you want to come in and cook it yourself.”
He underlined three words.
“‘World’s best pie.’ Has this claim been independently adjudicated?”
Miss June put a slice in front of him.
“You’re welcome to file an appeal.”
The smaller inspector took one bite. His ruler bent into the shape of a question mark.
“Instrument malfunction,” he whispered.
“No,” I said. “That’s your first accurate measurement all morning.”
Just then a traveler came in out of the rain, coat dripping, hands shaking from the cold.
“I’ve got enough for coffee,” he said. “Maybe not breakfast.”
June set down a plate of eggs and toast.
“Coffee comes with breakfast today.”
The taller inspector frowned.
“Your menu does not advertise this offer.”
“Some things aren’t on the menu.”
“Then how are customers supposed to know they exist?”
“They aren’t. That’s what makes it a kindness.”
The inspector looked from the plate to the sign over the door.
“Perhaps the establishment should be renamed Another Chance Diner.”
June shook her head.
“Then folks would come expecting guarantees. I can offer a meal. The rest is up to them.”
The two inspectors packed their instruments and went outside.
Their saucer was parked directly beneath a NO PARKING sign.
June opened the door.
“Now there’s a discrepancy I can help you correct.”
The ship moved.
The sign stayed.
And I made a note that the universe, for all its paperwork, occasionally understands a plain instruction.
