A Bucket Full of Colours
Monday morning and it is sunny but cool. Delany Quick exuberantly placed the empty cappuccino cup on the counter of the walk-in coffee shop, exaggeratedly but unnecessarily pushed his long black hair away from his face and looked the waitress firmly in the eye. His dark almost black eyes penetrated but at the same time displayed a humorous twinkle that softened what might have been a most disconcerting stare. In reply to her question he said firmly with a sudden, jaunty smile, “What I do madam is sell magic. Delaney Quick at your service. Purveyor of fine magic sparks.” She had spotted this tall, strange man ambling along the pavement giving the impression of someone with a clumpy gait but who had then almost glided into her establishment to sit astride one of the tall counter stools immediately in front of her in the most theatrical manner. He had ordered a cappuccino, “Hot and as strong as you can make it please,” and downed it in one motion, without taking breath, without disturbin