48 - Viscosity of Custard - A sixteen chapter novel
Stanley Holloway walked through the swing door, the sort that pivots on one side. It swung easily open when he gave it a small shove and 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 loudly echoed off the hard walls. 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 teeth smudged a bit red by overmuch lipstick, some sort of Patsy Red , the pout making type and looking hurriedly applied, he thought, as though she had