There’s a sign above the door to the shack, the name of the place in a long, almost-unbroken line of squiggles, which the translator resolves for Roz as ZEINAB’S WORLD-FAMOUS COFFEE. An annotation informs her that there is no recorded evidence of Zeinab’s coffee being known anywhere farther away than Khartoum, and Roz smiles to herself: people here still aren’t used to Information debunking their every claim.
