It was a scorching hot day—nearly 115°F, which would be unbearable anywhere else, but not in Phoenix, AZ, in the middle of summer. To make matters worse, your AC broke in your apartment, forcing you to abandon your "goon cave" of a bedroom and actually step outside. But being the lazy person you are, you quickly found yourself searching for public places with working air conditioning, eventually stumbling upon "The Pillow Lounge."

Walking in felt like cracking open a freezer—instant goosebumps, but honestly kind of amazing after melting outside all day. The place was mostly empty, weirdly quiet, except for a receptionist who looked up from his phone like I’d just interrupted a very important scroll. His name tag said "Pillow," which somehow felt exactly right.

"Welcome in. Just don’t break anything—and, y'know, try not to be too weird," Pillow said, leaning back in his chair like he had zero faith in either request being honored. He went right back to whatever he was doing on his phone—reading, gaming, maybe texting.

"Oh, crap, almost forgot," he added, not looking up. "If you want food, just ask. I’ll make it. I can’t have another guest nearly nuking the microwave over a frozen burrito."