Showing posts from November, 2021

48 - The Viscosity of Custard

                                                                             The swing door, the sort that pivots on one side, swung easily open when Stanley Holloway gave it a small shove and he walked straight in out of the rain. He took a table by the window overlooking the street and hung his overcoat over the back of a classic utility chair where it spread out over the floor and dripped. Then sat down looking around the tables at all those people creating that everyday cafe din, that sort of echoey row full of clattering plates and rattling cutlery and overlapping conversations creating a wall of murmuring sound. The waitress, tall and maybe in her mid-thirties, with that almost wavy but not quite wavy blond hair, sort of ambled over, chewing gum and holding a worn out note pad with all the edges curled up like they do when pulled in and out of a pocket all the time. It sort of matched her own worn out expression. She smiled one of those fake, tired smiles showing her front te