Description - Exterior

Wedged between a pawn shop and a shuttered travel agency, the Park Bench Café doesn’t look like much—just a green awning, fogged-up windows, and a hand-painted sign that’s been touched up more times than anyone remembers. A crooked little wooden bench out front is always occupied, even when no one’s sitting there. Come rain, snow, or curfew—the place stays open.  

Description - Interior

Warm light, deep wood paneling, and the faint hiss of jazz vinyl from a back corner. Walls are cluttered with black-and-white photos, handwritten notes, and postcards from people who never left forwarding addresses. The booths creak just enough to remind you they’ve heard everything. The air smells like strong coffee, powdered sugar, and something floral—maybe lavender, maybe memory.  

History

Opened in the 1920s as a safe hangout during Prohibition, the Park Bench has seen a lot—raids, marches, jazz legends, ghost stories. Some say it was blessed by a Veil-walker priest back in ’35, others think the place just got good bones. It vanished from city records for two years during the war, but nobody stopped showing up. It came back like nothing happened.  

Owned By

Owned by Miss Thelma Vance, a retired singer with a sharp tongue and sharper eyes. She’s half-blind, but somehow sees everything. Also rumored to be Veil-sensitive, though she claims she “just got good instincts.”  

Run By

The kitchen and day-to-day is handled by Uncle Avery, a towering man with a gentle voice and uncanny memory. He’s been working the griddle since 1946 and knows things he shouldn’t—like your mother’s maiden name, your dead uncle’s recipe, or what’s been following you.  

Employees

• Uncle Avery – Cook, confidant, and possible oracle.
• Miss Thelma – Owner, host, and enforcer of the café’s unspoken rules.
• “Dollie” Mae Richardson – Waitress with lipstick that never smudges and a voice like sugar glass.
• Tobias “Jazzman” Reed – Busboy who hums tunes that ain't been recorded yet.
• Ginny from Downstairs – Works mornings, swears she just fills in, but is always there.
• “Smalls” the Cat – Never pays rent, guards the attic like it owes him money.

 

Regulars

• Local beat cops who think it’s neutral ground. It’s not.
• Southside Sinners passing messages in the sugar jar.
• An old man called Mister Crisp who plays chess against no one.
• A silent girl with a doll, seen only when it rains.
• Folks with nowhere else to go but always exact change.
• One of the city’s Veil brokers who never gives the same name twice.

 

Notes

• Anyone bleeding, Veil-touched, or in need gets served without question—but they will owe something.
• There’s a chair in the back corner no one sits in twice. Bad dreams follow if you do.
• Once a week, the jukebox plays a song no one remembers recording. Every time, someone cries.
• Some say the sugar jars whisper names if you’re quiet enough at 3 a.m.
• Thelma won’t stop anyone from bringing in trouble—but she’ll make sure it leaves different.
• A perfect place to get a tip, a warning, or a blessing disguised as sass and sweet rolls.