I am back at the bar. We have had three customers in the past four days. I am thinking too much about the past.
Perhaps I shouldn’t reveal this here, but ever since I took control of the bar, we have food underneath the floorboards. Staples like honey, sugar, and pasta. Although I doubt anyone will ever eat a spoonful.
We always had enough food here during the Haircut, even when the scavengers came. Buber was too important to suffer. But there was always the underlying fear that things would turn, and the supply chains would collapse. That there simply wouldn’t be sustenance anymore. It was a scary time when the next freighter could land with tons of rotting maize, a thousand parnsipheads spilling from the hold and tearing up the landscape.
We heard so many stories from those who visited the bar. Some were so skinny their clothes flopped off them. We helped when we could, but often we hid our supplies in the beer cellar. The farmers doubled as security back then. Once when driving with my grandfather near the pumpkin field (we had pumpkin fields then) something was covered in pulpy orange flesh and seeds. I don’t know if it was alive or dead.
Think how weird it is that we don’t even know what planet the Haircut started on. That there are so many billions of acres of crops feeding a hungry universe we can’t pinpoint patient zero. One month everything is fine, and then suddenly parsnipheads are popping up across the stars.
But if you think about the situation logically, their arrival was inevitable. Think about all the planets we took over and turned into farmland. Something like this was bound to happen. This wasn’t a fight back. Merely the odds of finding something incompatible with us in all that space.
This was never a war. There is no record of any strategy, or even communication between the parsnipheads. The problem was they kept coming.
Which is why we keep food under the floorboard.
I am thinking too much. It will be good to get customers in again.