“Ground control to Major Tom. The time is near, there's not too long.”

It’s a sadly prescient line from astronaut Chris Hadfield's cover of David Bowie’s universally beloved “Space Oddity”, and there’s no denying the melancholic coincidence that such a line can describe the plight faced today by one of Warren’s more distinct downtown shops.

Space Cadets — a place where it seems as though the inventory was plucked from every far reach of the galaxy imaginable — has been forced to vacate the premises at 450 Main St. The deadline is Friday, and there’s not much that can be done about it.

The beginning of the end started on March 1. A new property management company from out of state purchased the building and informed owner, Bleu Grijalva, that the rent would be increasing from $3,300 a month to $5,800 a month.

For a business that had gotten by on thin margins (or even operated in the red) since it opened about six years ago as a temporary pop-up on Black Friday, it was effectively a notice of termination for their operations.

“As of Friday night this is all done, lost to the ether,” Grijalva said on Monday afternoon, as people browsed the eclectic offerings throughout the store.

They put up a fight, and tried to meet with the new ownership to negotiate some kind of compromise, but there was no budging the decision. Eventually they were taken to court and served an eviction notice. A fundraiser to help raise money for legal fees and potentially save the shop garnered some money, but not nearly enough to sustain them long-term.

Despite their plight, Grijalva — a Laguna Beach native and self-described hippie who could spin a dropped ice cream cone into a positive learning experience — refuses to let himself by swallowed by the black hole that has rapidly surrounded him.

“I’m hoping this is a redemption experiment of sorts,” he said, offering that the shop closing would give him more time to dedicate to his kids and explore opportunities for what comes next. “Even through this process, community members have come through and offered help with moving, through loans, to save us. They feel like we’re a part of them. Gifts I could have never imagined.”

When asked his thoughts about how things unfolded, Grijalva refused to blame anybody or even vent in a negative way. His biggest concern was for the people who had come to frequent the shop; particularly those with special needs and disabilities who had found the shop to be a safe haven for them to come in and browse in a warm and accepting environment.

“We’ve become more of a place of stability for people in this community. It’s a refuge for people to come in and dial down,” he said. “That’s what I worry about most, is them. Everything else is going to work out fine. It’s all going to work out the way it’s supposed to work out.”

Asked about plans going forward, Grijalva said it was a possibility to find another space nearby to store at least some of their most cherished inventory, but what he ultimately wants is to create a kind of “analog museum” — a snapshot of the world before it went digital and accelerated to its breakneck modern pace.

“Another idea that’s popped in my brain, the hippie in me, is to find a converted bus and take this show on the road,” he said.

Whatever lies ahead for Grijalva, you can bet that he’ll approach it with the same positive mindset. He talked about how the mailman who has walked the route including Space Cadets for the past 20-plus years would often share Buddhist proverbs with him, and how one recently struck him in a particularly meaningful way.

“It said to the effect of, ‘Sometimes storms happen not for destruction, but to clear a new path.’ So we’re clearing a new path,” he said. “And something beautiful is going to rise from this.”