Stripe
The waitress behind the counter was a pretty thing. She had dark, closely cropped curls and wore a tight-fitting green and white top with a full skirt, partly hidden beneath an apron. Her shoes were bright red, their toes curled upwards, not unlike the kind of shoes Enid Blyton elves wear.
Around her neck, she had what looked like a shred of a tie, though the more I glanced at it, the more it looked like a strip of buttons off the front of a blue striped shirt.
Unfortunately for us, she appeared to be the only one writing down the orders, serving food, and cleaning up. I stole a couple of snapshots whilst waiting for her to get around to taking our order. Distraction is good. Especially when you're starving, and some drunken-sounding customer is hogging the attention of the only waitress in the cafe with idle small talk.
But she came, by and by. So did the food, eventually.
We ate, we talked, we drank.
The cafe itself was lovely and a marvel to look at. The walls have been artificially aged with clever use of paint. From these ornaments protruded or hung, and curious things sat in the corners on specially-made shelves. No one chair looked like the other, and we could see straight through to the kitchen. There seemed to be only one chef. Hmm.
The weather has been odd for over a month; today it could not decide whether to be sunny or to douse the population with rain. By the time we left the cafe though, the sun was out with a vengence, and I felt silly wearing a big grey coat and carrying large umbrella.
We stopped at a record shop where he came out empty-handed - a surprise - and I picked up a random CD - also a surprise. Walking along the familiar street, I glanced longingly at the window of the bookshop, but decided, no. Another day.
There are many days to come.
[Corresponding dandruff flake] [Comment?]
09 January 2002, Wednesday, 10:18 PM
Alter ego of dandruff
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