About this novel
The Edge of the World coffee shop stands on the last street of the town — where the streetlamps lean toward the alley as if trying to glimpse something that appears on no map. Vera brews cinnamon coffee here for late passers-by, while a cup has been going cold by the window for the third year, left by a man the whole town tries not to notice.
One evening, when the rain falls at a particularly slanted angle, the stranger lifts his eyes from the untouched cup for the first time. He has an offer: walk to the end of the alley and look at the door behind which the coffee shop brews its very first coffee — the one the world began with.
You can speak to him, or step out into the rain and reach the door on your own. You can open it — or go home and meet the dawn with a clear conscience. The edge of the world is patient: it smells of freshly ground beans, and it knows how to wait.