“I hardly have a minute.” Denise was radiant as always, candy floss hair spun up in a midnight waterfall, eyes encrusted in purple dust storms and miniature silver sequins. Looks would always be a commodity and Denise knew how to dredge up a good harvest in any season.

​

“Of course!” said Mia, accepting her dearest friend in a deep, genuine embrace while angling the camera rigging attached to her halo so as to frame the pair in the more flattering light entering through the door. “We’ve all got our jobs. So glad you could spare a second.”

​

“Still on CamHours?” asked Denise as they slipped through the glass door into the coffee shop.

​

Mia nodded, gingerly, careful not to jostle the camera too much. “Had an offer from 24/7, but that contract was a fright. You hardly get a minute to breathe. Is a bike alright, or would you prefer a table?”

​

Denise stuck her sunglasses back into their case, blinking heavily. “Things are good, dear. Not great. Bikes will be fine.”

​

The two women found a pair of unoccupied bikes at the center of the café.

​

“Good thing I didn’t wear a skirt today,” said Mia, settling uneasily into the bike seat.

​

“Might have made a few extra pledges, though,” said Denise, straddling her bike, pressing her thumb to the registration module, and beginning to pedal.

​

The monitor between the handlebars sprang to life, displaying accumulated wattage, current exchange rate, and income earned. “Shit rate,” she muttered, straining to find the effort level that maximized her earnings without causing her to sweat. She didn’t want to go back to the college a sweaty mess.

​

“You don’t cam?” said Mia. “I’d think, beautiful as you are, there’d be good money there for you.”

​

Denise tapped her temple just at the edge of her eye. “Lens-camera. I do special bidder shows only. I value my time and my privacy too much for that day in, day out cam grind.”

​

Mia flushed a bit. She hoped Denise would assume that was from the exertion. “I guess I just don’t have the time to manage that kind of game.”

​

“It’s not that hard,” said Denise, flatly. “How’s the cappuccino here?”

​

Mia pulled up the menu on her monitor. “I’m more of a tea drinker.” She placed an order – chamomile – then pedaled harder. She was hoping perhaps to earn enough to pay for the tea, unlikely as that was.

​

“Still with Rodney?”

​

Mia nodded. “Five years. Really got a groove going now, I suppose.”

​

“But not married?”

​

Mia flinched. “I’m not sure that’s who we are.”

​

Denise laughed, pulling up her phone. “Sorry. Survey. You don’t mind?”

​

“No,” said Mia, pulling out her own phone. She had stupidly turned off her Survey Queue app. Same with her SpotJob, LeaveIt, Friend4Now, and PlasmaGO apps. She’d been so excited about seeing her old friend. But then she thought about all the income-opportunities she’d lost in the last 15 minutes and felt furious with herself. It wasn’t just stupid – it was reckless. 

​

“Oh fuck!” said Mia as the notifications came rolling in. “I got an offer on a table job.”

​

“Right now?” said Denise, not looking up from her own phone.

​

“In the café,” said Mia, swiveling around. She pointed out an older gentleman in a neat brown suit at the back of the café. “That guy. Ten minutes. Don’t even have to talk to him.”

​

“Is he willing to do two?”

​

Mia blanched. She reminded herself that Denise’s time was valuable, too. No one should do anything for free. She shouldn’t be selfish. She sent a quick counteroffer.

​

“Well?” said Denise, apparently finished with her survey, dabbing her forehead with the sleeve of her jacket (a napkin would cut into her profit margin).

​

“We’re good!” said Mia, hopping off the bike. Her total was disappointingly small, but the table job would make up for it. She led the way to the older man’s table. “Hello, I’m Mia. This is Denise.”

​

The older man smiled. “Pleasure. Please have a seat.”

​

Mia took a seat to the man’s left. Denise moved to sit beside Mia, who shook her friend off. “You have to sit on the other side of him,” she whispered.

​

“Are you serious?”

​

“Problem?” said the older man.

​

“No, no,” said Mia, half-pushing Denise into the opposite chair. She hated to be rude to such a dear, old friend, but she was taking a 25 percent reduction on the job by bringing in a second. She felt a little bossiness was allowed.

​

“So, still teaching at Wesley?” said Mia, leaning over the older man, who merely smiled and watched silently.

​

Denise made a show of craning her head over the older man’s. “Oh yes. Still toiling in academia. It’s not the most thrilling field, but…” Her phone buzzed. Her eyebrows arched as she spied the notification. “Well…”

​

“Another survey?”

​

“Show bid,” she said, standing up. “Is there a restroom here?”

​

“Around the corner,” said Mia. “It’s a bit pricey, though.”

​

Denise’s mouth curled into a sort of malformed “O”. “Oh, that’s not a problem. You’ll be alright for a moment?”

​

Mia opened her mouth, then realized Denise was talking to the man. “Yes, yes. As long as I get my full ten, I’m fine.”

​

“Back in a jiff,” said Denise, striding off toward the restroom.

​

“What sort of shows does she do?” said the older man.

​

“We’re not on the clock right now?” said Mia. The older man shook his head. “Hold the thought, then. I’m going to take a shift while we wait.”

​

“You’re certified for barista work?” he said. Mia ignored him – that was the economically sound thing to do.

​

There were spare aprons at the counter, along with a lockscreen which Mia bypassed with a scan of her thumbprint. Behind the counter there was all the usual gear – presses, cauldrons, and syrups by the barrel. A green-eyed man was already at work, dumping shiny, black beans into an enormous grinder.

​

“Oh thank god!” he said. “Someone else. I’ve been back here alone for hours. I’m so far behind it’s unbelievable.”

​

Mia smiled and glanced at the open orders. There was her tea, right in the middle.

​

“Are you full time?” she asked, pulling down a large mug and pouring out a chocolatey dark roast.

​

The green-eyed man laughed. “Not here. I don’t think they have any employees at all here. Just someone to empty the till at night. Everyone else is work-a-minute.”

​

“What’s your full-time then?”

​

“Advertising. You?”

​

“Therapy. Mental health.”

​

“Eh?” The green-eyed man tossed a large cup of something Mia didn’t catch onto the counter, punching in the order number, and closing the guard screen. “Kinda woulda thought someone like you wouldn’t need side hustles like the rest of us.”

​

“Nothing pays like it ought to,” said Mia, dropping off her first completed order.

 

“Tell me you at least don’t sleep-share, right?”

​

Mia laughed. “You got me there.”

​

The green-eyed man nodded. “I’ve got a night watchman named Gary. Sweats like a broken radiator. That’s all I’m working toward. My own goddamn bed.”

​

There was a knock at the counterscreen. Denise stood on the other side of the clear plastic. “Done. Let’s finish up the table job, okay?”

​

The green-eyed man made a show of hiding his disappointment.

​

“Are you certified, Denise?” asked Mia. “You may never get your cappuccino if we don’t help out.”

​

Denise laughed. “I can’t afford to help out. And no, I’m not certified for barista work. Waste of time.”

​

“They pay per dish,” suggested the green-eyed man. “No certification needed.”

​

“I’m not washing the fucking dishes,” sighed Denise. “Just come out of there and let’s chat. You know I don’t have much time.”

​

Mia finished the frothy, sugary monstrosity she was working on and dropped it on the counter. “Nice meeting you,” she said, dropping off her apron.

​

“You, too,” said the green-eyed man, clearly wanting to say more.

​

“He was cute,” said Denise as they made their way back to the table. “Is he on Giftr?”

​

“I didn’t ask,” said Mia.

​

The older man smiled and nodded as they took their seats. “Am I any closer to my small espresso?”

​

Mia shook her head. “You might need to make it yourself.”

​

“Oh poo,” he sighed. “And you girls…are you…?”

​

“Nala’s pregnant,” said Denise, cutting off the old man. “Did you hear? Crowdfunded her in vitro. Now that’s hustle.”

​

“Oh,” said Mia, trying to remember who Nala was. “No sponsorships?”

​

“No, they still took out four sponsorships on the baby, but that’s straight income.” Denise pursed her lips, eyes soft and dreamy. “Can you imagine? That baby’ll just about pay for itself. That’s the way to do it.”

​

“When I was your age…” began the old man, before he was cut off by a banging of hands on Formica, feet on hardwood. A man at the next table was rapidly turning purple, clutching at his throat, white foam peaking at the corners of his mouth.

​

“Oh god, who knows the Heimlich?” cried a woman who seemed to be the man’s wife. Around the café, six men and women, including Mia, raised their phones.

​

“Don’t bid,” said Denise, scowling. “We’ll never finish this table job and I have to get back to work soon.”

​

“Right,” said Mia. “Of course.” Still, she kept the phone open under the table, watching the live bidding. It took about 25 seconds. The man with the winning bid earned nearly enough for a muffin. The choking man – freed from his under-chewed bite of panini – returned to his table and his coffee as if nothing had happened.

​

“I think that’s ten,” said Denise after moment. She stood up, pulling Mia along. Neither said anything to the older man, who re-opened his phone and began looking for his next companion.

​

“What kind of show did you do?” asked Mia, as they hovered near the counter.

 

Denise shrugged. “Nothing I wasn’t going to need to do eventually anyway. Better to get paid for it.” She pounded on the counterscreen. “Make my cappuccino to go, alright?”

​

Startled and confused, the green-eyed man started work on a to-go cappuccino.

 

“I’m glad we could do this,” said Denise. Her pocket shook with the combined force of multiple new notifications tumbling one over the other. She pulled out her phone, then glanced out the door. “Ah. I’ve got an escort job.” She read the offer again. “A walk and talk? Eww. Should I?”

​

The green-eyed man dropped a to-go cappuccino on the counter. Mia handed it to Denise.

​

“If the price is right,” she said.

​

“It never really is, though – is it?” said Denise, not quite thoughtfully. She laughed. “Well, he’s going my way, at least. We can talk about the weather. I’m good at saying nothing.” She laughed again. “Take care. Give my love to Rodney.”

​

They hugged, kissing cheeks with caution. By habit alone, Mia craned backwards through the door, putting Denise and her client in frame with Mia’s face. Her viewers would have wanted that little bit of closure, she figured.

​

At the counter, the guard screen was open. The green-eyed man held out a mug of chamomile. “This is yours, I believe?”

​

“That’s me,” said Mia, taking the drink.

​

“Well, I hope you enjoy it,” said the green-eyed man.

​

“Oh, I don’t have time for that,” said Mia, pushing the mug against her lips and downing the scorchingly hot drink in a single gulp. Her mouth had long ago lost its sensitivity to heat and cold. “Do you?”

​

The green-eyed man nodded, his humor stripped away, closing the guard screen and returning to work.

​

Mia considered washing her own mug, but the return wasn’t worth the investment for something so small. Besides, her phone was buzzing and she still had 13 minutes until her next appointment.

​

Her opportunities were endless.