• Anny's Diner located at 615 Iron Way, 56th Cube 4th side, Aceron is the premium stop for the clockwork truckers making the dive from the border Aceron to the border Nirvana.

    It is a quaint little diner reminiscent of American 1960's complete with appropriate decor. Anny, herself, rarely comes out of the kitchen where she works her culinary magic (and not in the proverbial sense). She prepares and serves over a million plates a day. Now, one might think this to be a childish exaggeration, but she does and possibly more. The trick you see is that time stands rather still inside Anny's Diner. Once a patron enters, he or she or it, as the case may be, enters another dimension. In this "other space" time does not pass so to speak. It's not that things do not happen or events unfold but that when said patron exits the diner it appears, for all tense and purpose, to be in the same moment that he or she or it had entered.
    The diner is not only a great attraction but it gives the busy trucker all the time in the world to enjoy his or hers or its meal, toss back a few, sober up, eat another meal and leave on schedule.
    One might think that with the trick of the timing that Anny's would be one of the most crowded spaces in the multi-verse. Quite the opposite in fact. For some reason the only patrons one might run into within the folds of this diner dimension are the regulars and the ones seen just outside about to enter or currently entering. This means if you missed seeing someone on the road you would also miss them at the diner.
    Anny has few rules in her diner but they are strictly followed.
    Rule #1. No quarreling. This doesn't mean you can't have a good argument but it does mean that you can't disturb other patrons with it.
    Rule #2. No dine-and-dashes. The last scab to dash on a plate was served up as breakfast for a couple of fiends from the more inhospitable portions of the multi-verse.
    Rule #3. Always tip. The hard working waiters and waitresses of Anny's Diner put in about a million hours a day and deserve a tip for being the hardest workers in all the multi-verse.
    The patrons, mostly the clockwork truckers, come in all shapes, sizes, designations, denominations, ilks, creeds, and every manner of title one could be labeled with. The clockwork truckers are a rare breed. They traverse the great road which stretches, what some believe, the entire length of the multi-verse. They are the bulk shippers for gods and kings, emperors and merchant guilds. They come from everywhere, the truckers do, to brave dangers only dreamed of after eating 2 pastrami on rye sandwiches with mustard just before bed time.
    Where the infinite expanse of the floating cubes of Aceron border, both theoretically and literally, the infinite expanse of Nirvana lies Anny's Diner. For some of the truckers this is both the last and first stop along the great road.
    The trucks, which give the clockwork truckers their name, are an amalgamation of animal and machine. These creations of psionic wonder bind the will of some great beast or other, to great machines of steam and clockwork, which allow the truckers to operate them as vehicles. The cargo loads carried range in size from that of a small house to the volume of a zeppelin.