Name’s Dex—except if you’re filling out tax forms, engineering paperwork, or anything else the Republic insists on keeping records for.

By daylight, I’m an engineer, which mostly means staring at electronics until they finally admit what they’ve done wrong. After hours, I run this little establishment from Fort Wayne, Indiana—about as close to the Outer Rim as Earth currently offers.

The shelves are packed with science fiction, the jukebox favors metal and guitars tuned irresponsibly low, and the arcade is stocked with several console generations’ worth of games I should have played years ago. I share the place with my partner and a small crew of cats.

Dex’s Diner is where all of that ends up: book reviews, gaming archaeology, music, hardware, long-winded opinions, and whatever else has been rattling around in the kitchen. I miss when the internet felt like a collection of strange little places made by actual people, so I decided to open one of my own.

Grab a booth and stay awhile. The kitchen is always open, the recommendations are questionable, and every opinion comes with a side of fries.