Midnight Cafe/Bar
"How should I start this... Welcome, everyone, to Wimpy Radio... The radio station for losers. Or something like that, I guess."
Jom spoke into the microphone for the first time, his soft voice slightly hesitant.
‘Midnight CafeBar’—the white sticker gleamed against the pristine glass door. A slender finger pushed the door open. Beyond it, the first thing to catch your eye was a graffiti mural of four bipedal cats dressed in flamboyant outfits. They represented the four founding members of this place. The artwork sprawled across the tall walls of the loft-style interior, so large it seemed to spill over the edges.
Some parts of the cafe appeared deliberately unfinished, in line with the phrase: "Wabi-sabi, man. Make it look incomplete—it’s cooler that way." One guy had said that before splattering paint on an empty wall, turning it into another accidental masterpiece.
Behind the gleaming silver espresso machine, a small-framed young man stood unhurriedly, clad in a brightly colored hoodie, shorts, and oversized sneakers, calmly tending to his tasks.
"Whoa, what’s this? The bartender’s here early? Miss me or something?" The small-framed man, still occupied with his tasks, greeted Jom with cheerful sarcasm.
"Wow, you're spouting nonsense first thing in the morning, huh, Barista?" Jom chuckled. "Did you dye your hair again? It’s blinding."
The smaller man ruffled his own hair, making it even messier. "Right? This is, like, mermaid-level red."
"You're practically a main character now," Jom nodded. "Anyway, I came out to buy food for Den. Want some?"
He held up a large bag of dog food for him to see.
"Liver-flavored, huh? That’s my favorite."
"Fiz! Jom! Good morning!" The clock struck 8 AM. A cafe employee entered, greeting the two with a groggy voice.
"Morning!" Jom flashed a bright smile.
"Judging by your face, you desperately need coffee," Fiz grinned at the newcomer.
"For real, Fiz."
"I got you. Jom, you want one too?"
"Oh, hell yeah. Thanks."
"Light roast espresso?" Fiz pointed at Jom knowingly.
He smiled in response.
"By the way, why is it just you today?" Jom asked as he set his stuff down.
"The other two crashed their bike. Not bad enough for the hospital, but they’ll be resting for a couple of days," Fiz said over the roar of the coffee grinder.
Just then, the door swung open, and a large group of foreigners entered, chatting amongst themselves.
Jom and Fiz turned toward the source of the noise.
Several pairs of eyes met theirs.
"Hello... Is the shop open?" A hesitant Asian woman stepped forward to ask.
"What’s uppppp!" Fiz launched himself from behind the bar towards them. "Oh, hey, Jom, yours is over there." Without even looking, he pointed at a small, deep blue coffee cup next to the espresso machine.
"Thanks, bro" Jom stretched lazily and strolled over to sip from his favorite cup.
As he reached the bottom, the words written inside came into view: Someone poisoned your coffee.
He smiled at the joke. This was a birthday gift from his best friend.
Meanwhile, Fiz was now piggybacking a customer he had just met, running wildly around the cafe as if they had been friends for decades.
The chaos of the next ten minutes was summarized perfectly by the cashier's muttered words: "Shit. Twenty-three morning orders." He sighed as more customers streamed in with no sign of stopping.
"Fiz, are you really handling all this alone?" The cashier asked with concern. He was still too new to be much help.
"Chill~ Just dump all the slow-bar orders on Jom," Fiz replied casually, his hands moving at lightning speed, completely contradicting his relaxed tone.
"Wait, isn’t Jom a bartender?"
"Man, it’s a rare sight to see Fiz and Jom behind the coffee bar together," a young man—who bore a striking resemblance to Fiz but looked younger—murmured as he captured the moment with a Polaroid camera.
The tiny camera worked diligently to print out the historic snapshot.
"What’s the story here, Fong? I’ve never seen Jom make coffee before," another employee asked with curiosity.
"First year they met, Fiz taught Jom how to do pour-over. I think Jom liked the taste. And, well, Jom’s always been into nerdy stuff. And you know Jom—whatever he does, he masters it." Fong observed as Jom calmly poured water over coffee grounds.
The Polaroid finally finished printing.
The image captured Fiz moving so fast he was a blur next to Jom, who stood still, pouring water with serene concentration—completely lost in his own world.
That picture would later become a priceless keepsake.
"Jom, I’m finding absolutely nothing," a frustrated voice crackled through Jom’s peach-colored headphones.
"Aliens, you mean?" Jom asked, placing a finger between the pages of his book to mark his spot.
"Yeah. I’ve intercepted secret signals, picked up all sorts of weird frequencies, and I’m one step away from getting arrested... but I haven’t found a single goddamn alien."
"You've been at this for over a year now, right?"
"Almost two. My dad's starting to complain about wasted money... What should I do?" The voice on the other end sighed.
"Honestly, it’s like searching for a needle in a haystack. Maybe aliens don’t even use radio waves to communicate."
"Yeah, or maybe it’s like you said—they use smoke signals."
"Exactly. Maybe our timeframes are just too different." Jom absentmindedly petted a giant Samoyed that had rested its chin on his lap. "So, what else can your equipment do besides search for alien signals?"
"Hmm... It’s all radio-related. With a few tweaks, it could probably intercept different frequencies... Maybe even broadcast."
"Like a private radio station?"
"If I find an empty frequency, I could make it work. Why?"
"Sell it to me? Then you can use the money for your next weird project."
"Wait, really? You wanna run a radio station?"
"Just for fun. Can you name a price?"
"No clue... I’d let it go for fifteen thousand."
"I was thinking twenty," Jom chuckled.
"Oh, shit—deal! I’ll modify it into a program for you, with simple buttons and everything."
"Sounds good. Thanks, genius." Jom transferred twenty thousand baht without hesitation. "I'm heading to bed."
"Thank you, Lord Jom," the other voice responded smoothly.
"That’s the business smile, huh?" Jom chuckled before ending the call.
"Looks like it’s instant noodles for us this month, Den," Jom laughed at the dog.
The Samoyed flopped onto the floor in a dramatic sulk.
—
"How should I start this... Welcome, everyone, to Wimpy Radio... The radio station for losers. Or something like that, I guess."
Jom spoke into the microphone for the first time, his soft voice slightly hesitant.
"I’m Jom, the host, the manager, and the only listener of Wimpy Radio... Oh, wait, Garden is a shareholder too. Almost forgot."
Garden, the giant Samoyed, decided to jump onto the bed and curl up, entirely indifferent to his stake in the station. Perhaps it was his way of showing trust in the management.
"For the first episode of Wimpy Radio, let’s get to know each other a little."
Jom closed his eyes, his breathing steadying, before reopening them to glance at the large drawer beside him.
"Alright. My name is Jom, and I run Wimpy Radio. This show is... well, imagine a glass jar. Whenever something goes wrong in my life, I write it down on a piece of paper and drop it into the jar."
Garden twitched his ears and lazily flicked his tail against the blanket.
"Twenty-five years later, that jar is stuffed full of mistakes, packed so tight it’s about to crack. Naturally, that jar has to be named Jommm. Welcome to my life!"
Jom stretched his arms out theatrically.
"So, in summary, Wimpy Radio is a show where I’ll be taking those slips of paper out of Jom’s jar one by one and reading them to you. Hope you enjoy! And if possible, just throw away your own jar. But if you can’t... at least know that you’re not alone."
A long silence hung in the air afterward.
The giant Samoyed remained asleep.
Half the world was asleep.
Half the world was awake. Jom was one of the latter.
---
"I’m an only child. When I was little, my mom worried I’d be lonely, so she signed me up for all kinds of activities. Tons of classes, one after another, until I gradually cut out the ones I didn’t like."
"As I grew up, I realized I could focus on things for long periods of time."
---
"Why were we born? That’s a question I ask myself a lot. And the answer... well, I still don’t know."
Taking walks, eating lots of food, and lying on top of humans—that’s what life’s about. Garden didn’t say it, but whether he thought it, no one could tell.
---
"If we’re talking childhood romance... honestly, hanging out with a dog seems to have been more successful." Jom laughed.
"Oof! Den, why are you lying on me? Do you even realize how big you are?" Jom was silent for a moment. "Alright, seems like our major shareholder has intervened in this live broadcast. We’ll have to cut this episode short."
"Next time, you can call in and share your own misadventures at 0877777777... Wait, that’s my real number. Eh, whatever. Who’s even listening?"
---
"What even is this show?" Fiz laughed as he switched off the radio.
—
Late at night, Fiz returned to his room, feeling lightheaded. He collapsed onto his bed, completely at ease.
The ticking of the clock was unnervingly loud. His room had never been this quiet before.
Fiz wasn’t the type to handle silence well.
He reached for the radio by his bedside.
"I don’t know, man. I don’t think I did anything wrong... The problem isn’t getting fired—it’s how unfair this whole thing is," a familiar voice sobbed through the speaker.
"Your number is way too easy to remember," Fiz muttered, fumbling for his phone.
"...Huh? Hello?" Jom’s voice echoed through both his phone and the radio speakers.
"Hey there," Fiz turned off the radio.
"Uh... Who’s this?"
"It’s Jom, right? I’m Fiz, your one and only fan of Wimpy Radio!" Fiz’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.
---
"Come on, dude. Let’s go mess with those assholes together," Fiz’s smug confidence radiated through the phone.
"...So, we’re just using ‘dude’ now?" Jom asked, still perplexed. Even after venting about getting fired for thirty minutes, he hadn’t expected this level of familiarity.
"Of course. But that’s not the point. See you at ten!" Fiz cut the call off, just like that.
---
21:58
Garden was still peacefully asleep. The bed felt especially spacious tonight.
---
"What the hell am I doing…? This is way out of my comfort zone," Jom muttered, pulling his black coat tighter around himself.
"Jom." A voice called from behind him.
"Yeah?" Jom turned to face the speaker.
"Are you mad? I’m sorry."
"You weren’t the one who fired me, so whatever."
"Yeah… but still, I’m sorry." The other guy lit a cigarette and blew out a lazy cloud of smoke.
"You drunk?"
"A little. I mean, you got fired because of our argument."
Jom didn’t respond, but he was starting to regret coming out.
"Jom."
"What."
"Up close, you’re actually kind of good-looking."
"Uh-huh." Jom instinctively took a step back. Just then, his phone rang.
"New boyfriend calling you already?"
And then everything happened at once.
The drunk man kissed Jom.
Jom struggled, trying to push him off.
The phone kept ringing.
A new set of footsteps approached.
Jom’s phone slipped from his grasp, landing on the ground.
The ringtone kept blaring.
The footsteps stopped a short distance away. Their owner had bright blue hair, a vividly colored hoodie, knee-length shorts, and oversized sneakers. The confident smirk on his face made his presence even more pronounced.
Fiz stood, arms crossed, observing the scene with interest.
Then he noticed something.
Jom placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder, gripping lightly—perhaps asking for the kiss to last longer.
Or maybe it was a plea for help.
Tears slipped down Jom’s face.
Fiz smashed a green glass bottle over the drunk man’s head with full swing. Shards of glass glittered under the streetlights for a split second.
The man staggered, blindly swinging his fists to clear an escape path before bolting into the bar.
"You good, Jom? Sorry I’m late, but I’d say we’ve got about thirty seconds left to stand here."
"Fiz..?" Jom was still in shock, his face pale like he might throw up.
"Just to be sure—if you’re happy I knocked that guy out, say ‘thank you.’"
Jom struggled to swallow. "...Thank you."
"Cool. Now wait here a sec." Fiz sprinted toward the bar entrance.
At that exact moment, the bar owner stepped out, searching for the commotion’s cause. "Who the hell—!"
Fiz kicked him back inside and did his best to avoid getting shot.
---
"Phew. The stars look nice tonight," Fiz leaned back, staring at the city sky, where not a single star was visible.
"Are you insane? You acted like starting a bar fight is just a normal thing!"
"What? You got a punch in too, didn’t you? Feels good, right?"
"My hand hurts like hell," Jom grumbled.
"Here." Fiz handed him a cigarette.
"I don’t smoke."
"It’s as easy as punching someone." Fiz still held the cigarette out.
–
"Put on Wimpy Radio for me, will you?"
Jom exhaled a dry laugh, resigned. "...Hello, everyone. This is Jom. Today, I’m hosting Wimpy Radio live on location for the first time. Big thanks to all our ticket buyers!"
He waved playfully at Fiz.
"Niceee. What story are you telling today?"
"Hmm... Alright. Back in high school, I studied fine arts."
"You’re just skipping over the whole drunk ex thing?"
"Shut up."
"Fine, continue."
"I had my first boyfriend when I was around seventeen."
"Nice. So, before that?"
"I dated girls. But honestly, I still go both ways."
"Ah-ha."
"So, my boyfriend and I were in the same class, working hard on assignments together."
"Model couple."
"Exactly. Then, there was this design class where we could create anything we wanted. I figured, why not design a tattoo?"
"And do you actually have a tattoo?" Fiz leaned in, trying to spot one.
"No, but if I ever get one, I’d like it to say ‘I’ll be dead very soon’ on my arm."
"Then I’ll get ‘Bullshit’ tattooed right next to it. Matching set?"
"You’re an idiot, Fiz," Jom smacked his arm, laughing.
They both chuckled.
"Anyway, back to my ex. He really loved going to bars. He had a favorite cocktail joint he hit up all the time."
"Uh-huh."
"At first, I went with him. Being a nerd, I ended up learning bartending skills from it. That’s how I got into mixing drinks."
"Shoutout to that bartender."
"Yeah, big thanks to Mister X. But the more I focused on school, the less I went out. Meanwhile, my boyfriend? He kept going every night. That was our first fight."
"First fight logged."
"Back to my design class. The final presentation day came, and I had prepped my tattoo design late into the night... and, of course, I overslept."
"Oh, you’re screwed."
"Yeah, but here’s the kicker—my boyfriend presented my work for me. Took my design, gave the full speech."
"Saved your ass."
"Right? But it gets better—he also took my grade."
"Wait. What."
"Yup. He presented and got graded in my place."
"That’s next-level scummy."
"Yeah, I reacted the same way you just did."
"So what’d you say?"
"‘What the fuck is wrong with you, babe?’"
"That sounds exactly like me."
"Right? Anyway, his excuse was that if I didn’t have a final grade, I’d still pass—just with a shitty GPA. But if he didn’t have one, he’d outright fail. So it was ‘better’ if we both passed. And now? That guy’s a famous tattoo artist."
"What a selfless, loving partner."
"Truly. And, being the kind-hearted boyfriend I was—"
"You forgave him?"
"Hell no, I dumped his ass. Kindness and stupidity are two different things."
"This man gets it!"
"Damn right."
"So... who exactly was that guy I smashed with a beer bottle earlier?"
---
A gallon of milk poured over a human body.
A single abandoned foundation pillar.
A skeleton and cigarette smoke drifting into the night.
That was Jom’s only response.
---
Minutes passed in silence, only broken by the sound of distant traffic and exhaled smoke.
"Wanna go get tattoos?" Fiz finally asked.
"Yeah. Let’s do it."
"...Shit. Alright, let’s go."
---
That night, for the first time, Jom saw Fiz— the same guy who stormed a bar alone— cry like hell.
"So, you’re afraid of needles?" Jom raised a brow as he watched Fiz sniffle, eyes flicking between his fresh ‘I’ll be dead very soon’ tattoo and Jom’s identical one.
"A little... Damn, this hurts like hell."
Fiz examined his own ridiculous ‘Bul’ tattoo, inked in the same spot.
"Aww, thanks for the moral support. I actually feel a little better."
"You should feel a lot better, you little shit."
"Sorry, sorry! Thanks, man. No one’s ever been this nice to me after knowing me for, like, a day."
"I honestly shouldn’t be this nice to you... This fucking hurts."
"Too late now." Jom grinned, amused at his whiny new friend.
______
"I wanna open a coffee shop, Jom."
"You need a bartender to run the night shift?"
---
A lavender plant sat serenely on a wooden table. Its tall, abstract ceramic pot contrasted beautifully with the purple flowers, exuding a quiet comfort in its imperfection.
"Your table’s quiet. This area’s nice—perfect for a party," said the sunflower.
"If you move next to me, I’ll burn your pot," Lavender warned.
"Fine."
In the end, the sunflower moved into a condo on the neighboring table… and turned out to be quite a pain in the ass.
---
It was a peaceful morning. Jom took Garden for a leisurely walk in the park.
---
"Hello, everyone! Jom here! Today, I brought Den to work with me!" Jom spoke into the mic with enthusiasm.
---
"Heeey, Den!" Fiz lunged toward the giant Samoyed.
Garden lifted a paw, firmly pressing it against Fiz’s forehead.
"Uh… Good morning, Fiz, Jom." A third voice greeted them gently.
---
Jom put on his usual headphones and glanced at the tattoo on his arm: I’ll be dead very soon, just like every other morning before leaving the house.
---
A sunflower lay on the bed.
---
Jom put on his usual headphones and glanced at the tattoo on his arm: I’ll be dead very soon, just like every other morning before leaving the house.
---
The sunflower’s pot tipped over, spilling water across the sheets.
---
Jom put on his usual headphones and glanced at the tattoo on his arm: I’ll be dead very soon, just like every other morning before leaving the house.
---
The sunflower basked happily in the sunlight.
---
Jom put on his usual headphones and glanced at the tattoo on his arm: I’ll be dead very soon, just like every other morning before leaving the house. "Oh, almost forgot to feed Den today."
---
The sunflower…
---
Jom…
---
The sunflower… was fine.
---
"How should I start this... Welcome, everyone, to Wimpy Radio... The radio station for losers. Or something like that, I guess."
---
"How should I start this... Welcome, everyone, to Wimpy Radio... The radio station for losers. Or something like that, I guess."
---
"How should I start this... Welcome, everyone, to Wimpy Radio... The radio station for losers. Or something like that, I guess."
---
"How should I start this... Welcome, everyone, to Wimpy Radio... The radio station for losers. Or something like that, I guess."
---
"So, to sum it up—Wimpy Radio is a show where I’ll be pulling out pieces of paper from Jom’s jar of screw-ups and reading them one by one. Enjoy, everyone! And if you can, throw away your own jar. But if not… just know that you’re not alone."
---
Midnight Cafe/Bar
The End.
Kaedown.
