# Chapter 1: The Human Catalog and the Podcast on the Table
My name is Riyumi Almond. I’m a man who could be said to be approaching the age when I might finally be able to communicate with a cat.
I’m the youngest child in a long family lineage that, if I’m being honest, consists of the remnants of former glory. It feels as though all the talents capable of bringing in heaps of money were already bought up wholesale by my older siblings and ancestors.
In my daily routine, I feel most at ease in quiet places. I choose solitude, even though silly thoughts occasionally drift through my head. “I wish I could live in a fantasy world... go adventuring somewhere far away, then have my life story watched by millions of viewers.”
Yes, I do have a fondness for fantasy novels, comics, and anything else imaginative.
To me, those pages of stories are museums of art far more expressive than any painting hung on a wall—aside from a wall clock, of course.
But beneath my fondness for daydreaming, my real main hobby is... observing and paying attention to the behavior of living creatures called human beings. Sometimes, I also take on the role of a dumping ground for other people's “mental clutter.”
They come and go, whether just to discuss something or simply to find someone to sit and stare into space with. Truly staring into space without a word, like an image loading on a phone with a dead touchscreen.
The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and the hiss of steamed milk greeted the morning when the café door gave a soft chime.
“Morning...” a man said as he walked in.
“Morning. You look pretty calm today,” I replied, wiping down the bar counter with a clean cloth.
“Yeah... a lot happened yesterday.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“You could say that. Want to hear about it?”
I smiled faintly as I slowly poured hot water into the kettle. “Sure. The café’s pretty empty right now, anyway.”
“What can I get you?” I asked afterward.
“Black coffee. A little less sugar.”
This man is one of my regular customers. The unusual thing is that every time he comes in, he orders a different ratio of sugar and coffee. Lately, I’ve realized that he adjusts the recipe based on the kind of story he plans to share with me that day.
A pretty unique person, wouldn’t you say?
Basically, everyone has their own story, and I don’t mind listening to any of them. As long as the coffee I brew and this little room can give them some peace, I’ll be happy to do it.
Now I struggle and pray behind the counter of my own little café. I hold on, trying to make enough to cover my living expenses, while occasionally hoping for a little increase in income so I can have a better future.
In this simple little café, I’ll serve a variety of “menu of moods” filled with stories. A record of life behind the scenes. Is it fair to call this a written podcast?
Maybe. Hahaha.
The stories here certainly don’t come only from my own thoughts. They also come from the stories of extraordinary people who have stopped by and whose experiences are worth sharing with all of you.
One thing I’ve learned from behind this bar counter is that no life lesson can be treated as an absolute model to follow, and no life experience is so trivial that it deserves to be dismissed as a bedtime story.
Everyone has their own role. Everyone has their own way of stepping onto the stage of life’s theater—a stage that sometimes feels like a psychological dramedy, much like the story in the film The Truman Show.
In the end, the door to this café is always open, but the choice remains in your hands.
You’re free to decide whether to stay here with me, enjoying the aroma of coffee while reading the scribbled stories of the people in this little café... or to step outside in search of some other entertainment.
I have no right, and I never will force anything that isn’t within my authority to decide.
That is humanity’s most fundamental right: the freedom to choose.