Pull Up A Chair on Room With Books – Jan 19, 2016
January 19, 2016
Well, it’s been a crazy week and although I gave myself the break of saying that I wasn’t going to commit to writing every day, I was still worried that I wouldn’t be able to do any writing this week after all. Well, you have to remember that the writer’s brain is a law unto itself. All the while I’ve been working on other things… vital things… my brain was mucking about in the background coming up with something all on its own. Now… the paragraph I’m going to share with you has nothing to do with ANY of the stories I’m working on, nor did I intend to write anything that involved anything like this. However, that one sentence about Carmine kept floating around and when I took a few minutes to sit down and write, this is what happened. So *sigh*, it looks like there may be another story to work on (even though I have no idea what it is or where it’s going)
Karen listened to the soft swish of the doors closing behind her and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness inside. She twirled her sunglasses nervously, surveying the room. This time of day there weren’t many patrons, even in this part of town. A man in a rumpled shirt wearing orange suspenders propped himself up on his elbows on the corner of the bar closest to her. He was slouched on a bar stool nursing a beer which seemed to be his fourth judging from the collection in front of him. It sweated gently in the stale air, rivulets of moisture running down to pool on the coaster below it. A dirty fingernail picked almost absentmindedly at the label.
At a table near the door, two women talked animatedly over some sort of cocktail, the kind that relied on strong spirits and brightly coloured accessories to make it desirable. They were dressed like secretaries and as her gaze moved past them, one shrieked with laughter. The sudden noise startled her making her jump. The drunk at the bar grunt wordlessly before taking a slow swig. In the far corner a young man in an ill fitting suit sat with his back to the corner. His suit was a black 3-piece and in the darkness she wondered if it was pin-striped. In front of him was a folded newspaper and a half eaten plate of spaghetti. For a moment, she wondered if his name was Carmine and if the newspaper concealed a weapon. She suppressed a nervous giggle.
Then she spotted the man at the other end of the bar. He was watching her, his gaze steady. As she made eye contact, he raised his bottle of cola in salute and nodded at the stool next to his. That must be him. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward. There was no turning back now.
© Domino Lane, January 2016
Until next week,