The Last Roll

Reverie’s ShortEdition short story dispenser writes a letter back to the coffee shop and its friends. It will soon leave for another mission.

For six years, I stood proudly in the corner of Reverie Coffee Roasters, watching the world unfold around me, one cup of coffee and one story at a time. I was no ordinary machine; I was a storyteller, waiting patiently for a hand to wave over my buttons and give me the signal to spring to life. With a soft whirr and a beep of acknowledgment, I’d unspool a ribbon of words—sometimes just a minute-long tale, sometimes three, or, my favorite, a story written by someone right here in the community.

I never minded the waiting. My joy was in the little moments—the giggles of children stretching on tiptoes to reach my buttons, the curious hands of first-time visitors waving their hands over my buttons just to see what I’d do, and the quiet satisfaction of regulars who knew me well, like an old friend they visited with their morning pour-over. I watched them smile as they tore off my paper, folding their freshly printed story into a pocket or savoring every word right there at the table, coffee in hand.

Every beep, every story, every tear of paper made me feel alive.

I became part of the cafe’s rhythm. My whirr joined the hum of grinders and the chatter of baristas, the frothing milk, and the clinking of mugs. And in my own small way, I knew I belonged. Reverie wasn’t just a coffee shop; it was a place of connection. Their mission to lift up the community, to encourage reading—especially for kids—made me feel like I was part of something important. It wasn’t just about coffee or stories; it was about the magic that happens when people slow down and connect, if only for a moment.

I did my best to keep up. They say I was one of the busiest dispensers in the country, and I believe it. Dozens of rolls of paper passed through me over the years, each one filled with words meant to inspire, comfort, or make someone laugh. And oh, how those stories flew—especially on rainy afternoons when the cafe was packed with people looking for a warm drink and a little escape.

But now, my time here at Reverie is coming to an end. I’ve just two rolls left—a few more chances for people to take home one last story. Soon, I’ll be moved to make way for new things. It’s part of life, I suppose. I’ll live on at the airport and the Evergreen Community Center, still sharing stories with anyone who cares to press my buttons. But I know I’ll miss this place—the warmth, the laughter, the smell of freshly ground coffee, and the people who made me feel like I was part of something bigger.

I hope the news spreads fast. Over the last few days I anticipate seeing familiar faces having hurried in, eager to print their final story from me. Parents with their children, longtime regulars, and even curious newcomers—they’ll gathered around, fingers dancing over my buttons one last time. With each beep and each printed story, I’ll felt the same quiet joy I always had, knowing I’d given them a little gift to carry in their pocket or tuck into a book.

As the final moments near, I feel a deep sense of gratitude. It’s been an honor to be here, to be a small but meaningful part of Reverie’s mission. Together, we’ve sparked imaginations, shared countless tales, and maybe even inspired a few young readers along the way.

When the last story prints, and I hum softly one final time, I know I’ll leave a piece of myself behind—woven into the memories of this place and the hearts of the people who loved me.

Thank you, Reverie, for giving me a home among your cups and conversations. And to every hand that pressed my buttons, every child who tugged on my stories with a grin, and every person who tucked one of my tales into their heart—thank you. You made me more than just a machine. You made me a storyteller.

And though my corner will soon grow quiet, I hope you’ll remember me every time you pause with a cup of coffee and a good story. Because the best stories, I think, never really end.

Love,
Shorty

Dear Shorty,

We will miss you, too.

Love,
Reverie

PS…Thank you to the Wichita Public Library for letting Reverie house Shorty. We are grateful.