I pedal the last stretch uphill. I can't help but notice that lately it doesn't leave me as tired or out of breath. It's been a few years trekking the deserted coasts after all, my legs are not what they used to be. Stepping off the bicycle, I look at the outstretching view. I'm standing on what used to be a mountain, but now I can feel the sea breeze hitting my face.
The smell of the ocean reminds me of my first days in this forgotten land. Japan hasn't been the same since the storms, and returning home is now almost impossible.
Or that's what I like to tell myself. I'm sure that if I looked hard enough I would find one of the last transports to the other side of the ocean, but there was really no point.
The same stories all over the globe, or at least those were the last reports.
Right before they shut down the internet, and 4chan with it. Now, my Anonymous status means nothing, the life I knew gone, and my only goal now is to find that mythical place before we fade out.
I look upwards to the sky, watching the clouds pass by lazily. I miss them. I wonder where the rest of us are. Lost, thrown all over the planet, and with no way to contact each other. Maybe some are traveling with me, no way to tell. Of course, looking for that cafe is popular. I have already run into otakus, their heaving and wheezing easily recognizable.
They are not so common now.
I draw a sip of the water bottle. It was a good idea to ride a bike instead of driving a motor. A pre collapse physique wouldn't be able to deal with this new world.
Taking a last, long look at the crashing waves, I start to pedal again. I'll keep looking for that place, that cafe attended by someone who might not even exist. All I need before seeing humanity's last throes is to drink a cup of coffee at Cafe Alpha.
It might take me ten more years, and I might not even find it at the end. The bike goes faster, gaining speed downhill. I'm not in a rush; she will wait until I get there.