"I'm really surprised to hear soul in here," a customer commented. With that, the guy behind the counter cranked the volume to its impressive limits, and when the song ended, shut off the music abruptly to announce in a loud voice, "I'd like to thank everybody for coming out to SOUL night, tonight and every Wednesday night at the ****! I'd also like to inform you all that this is the last SOUL night EVER! Thanks for joining us." Promptly, the next song began its blaring start from the speakers, and it was most definitely not soul.
Sitting in one of the intentionally eclectic rooms/art galleries of this old-house-turned-coffee-shop, a wide-eyed kid named Beth began to feel the shivering jolt of caffeine start-up its own song in her all-but-shot system. With the coffee's persuasive insistence, her mind formed the thought, "Maybe I should try calling first..." Immediately--or at least before she could think better of it--her cell was against the side of her face, attempting to summon a voice with the shriek of a drrrrring!
Showing posts with label Beth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Beth. Show all posts
Friday, May 15, 2009
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Beth (& MysteryGuy?)
Busking was a tricky thing.
Under the guise of artist, I had made it my right and their privilege, but I knew the precipice I walked. I thought of it constantly and so far the view was still worth it.
"My good Gentleman, would you by chance spare--" I heard snippets of the mobile panhandler Jay during a long rest as he made his way toward my corner of town, on his dozenth round of the night. My cello drowned out his approach when it came but he stopped in my line of sight to address another of our worldly patrons. His appearance was more frequent during certain songs for they tended to have an impact on some folks, and as the distracted woman listening fumbled with her purse and generously handed Jay a fiver, he winked at me. I wouldn't have let anyone else get away with it.
The wild-haired sage had a face seemingly gray with its permanent coat of dust and at the moment the angle of the freshly risen moon put a gleam in his wide eyes that I knew he would use to his advantage at the game. Clothes more ragged than necessary draped his every limb, and in layers as it got colder quicker now. His hands were perfectly calloused and clean. He, too, was a musician, but not here; he thought himself pure. I watched him keep my time on his way back against the foot traffic.
The woman five dollars poorer stayed to hear me play twenty minutes more. She was a regular charge, if ever I could claim one, and had been for the last month. She came at the same time each night, stuck around for half and hour or so, and then leave. She always approached from the same direction and the returned again without ever passing me, so I knew that i was the main event of her journey, though she never left any money for me even while I'd seen her dish out plenty to Jay, among other. Not only did I not mind this, I dreaded the evening that would see her drop off a handful of cash and then take back her lunch-break, robbing me of another worthy audience.
When my momentary admirer had gone for the evening once more, I stopped my playing for a while as was my timed habit. The baby crowd that had gathered continued on their way after leaving me with a quantifiable/the counted amount of their appreciation.
I smiled steady at them all as they went steadily on, but didn't respond to the compliments the threw carelessly my way. I never talk to them, it was an exceptionless rule. The fact that most didn't notice wasn't what kept me silent, though I couldn't say exactly what did. Nonetheless, if that one woman ever spoke to me, perhaps I would answer.
I got up to look and saw Jay almost to me again. My cello set carefully on the second-hand stand next to my stool. I bent to retrieve my first shift's wages and then tucked the soft gray case between the two objects. When I rose Jay was there, and I smiled my gratitude as he painstakingly perched himself atop my former seat. I told him I'd be back in a few minutes and he nodded solemnly before hunching forward and closing her eyes. He'd been walking the same hour long routed for the past decade and he was looking old these days. A good man, Jay was, I thought to myself.
Leaving him then I crossed the street. My spot was located on a steep slope; when I play I'm completely facing the folks climbing the hill while my back is to the faces of those coming down. The position seems to work well since most of the people who stop to listen only do so for an excuse to catch their breath. Then they have to pay out something so that they can continue to think nobody noticed.
The other thing this tilted perspective effects is where I go on my breaks. I choose entirely based upon how tired I am or how hot it is rather than where I might like to go or for what I hope to fetch. Consequently, I hardly know what I want anymore. (Aren't the lot of us mood-oriented?)
Up the hill and into the heat, I went as a closet masochist will do. I felt I needed to be tired and slightly feverish to pull off the rest of the night. It seemed I might even play better that way. Too bad for my retired fan.
The places on my right stood still and let me pass. I could distinguish them from those on my left only for the side of my neck that currently throbbed. I could see sounds being created in the distance but what I heard moments later was bodiless and distinctly alone. I stopped suddenly on my intent passage when I noticed a new face to as old a profession as mine.
He was a youngish boy, probably nineteen. Sitting cross-legged on the concrete, he had a cat on his lap and held a harmonica to his mouth, wailing on it in a way that I hadn't realized was possible. He'd yet to draw any serious people but I knew that would change; his hook was an irresistible one. Even to me. I left him a quarter of what I had made so far (we don't think in terms of amount when we give up our own earnings, but rather percentages). He didn't even look up at me and I knew pride at this. After staying to listen for a little while I turned completely around and left, hoping he felt the same way I did when my woman did this. I bought Jay a sweet, sweet coffee on my way back to him, carrying my own bitter brew in opposite hand.
Under the guise of artist, I had made it my right and their privilege, but I knew the precipice I walked. I thought of it constantly and so far the view was still worth it.
"My good Gentleman, would you by chance spare--" I heard snippets of the mobile panhandler Jay during a long rest as he made his way toward my corner of town, on his dozenth round of the night. My cello drowned out his approach when it came but he stopped in my line of sight to address another of our worldly patrons. His appearance was more frequent during certain songs for they tended to have an impact on some folks, and as the distracted woman listening fumbled with her purse and generously handed Jay a fiver, he winked at me. I wouldn't have let anyone else get away with it.
The wild-haired sage had a face seemingly gray with its permanent coat of dust and at the moment the angle of the freshly risen moon put a gleam in his wide eyes that I knew he would use to his advantage at the game. Clothes more ragged than necessary draped his every limb, and in layers as it got colder quicker now. His hands were perfectly calloused and clean. He, too, was a musician, but not here; he thought himself pure. I watched him keep my time on his way back against the foot traffic.
The woman five dollars poorer stayed to hear me play twenty minutes more. She was a regular charge, if ever I could claim one, and had been for the last month. She came at the same time each night, stuck around for half and hour or so, and then leave. She always approached from the same direction and the returned again without ever passing me, so I knew that i was the main event of her journey, though she never left any money for me even while I'd seen her dish out plenty to Jay, among other. Not only did I not mind this, I dreaded the evening that would see her drop off a handful of cash and then take back her lunch-break, robbing me of another worthy audience.
When my momentary admirer had gone for the evening once more, I stopped my playing for a while as was my timed habit. The baby crowd that had gathered continued on their way after leaving me with a quantifiable/the counted amount of their appreciation.
I smiled steady at them all as they went steadily on, but didn't respond to the compliments the threw carelessly my way. I never talk to them, it was an exceptionless rule. The fact that most didn't notice wasn't what kept me silent, though I couldn't say exactly what did. Nonetheless, if that one woman ever spoke to me, perhaps I would answer.
I got up to look and saw Jay almost to me again. My cello set carefully on the second-hand stand next to my stool. I bent to retrieve my first shift's wages and then tucked the soft gray case between the two objects. When I rose Jay was there, and I smiled my gratitude as he painstakingly perched himself atop my former seat. I told him I'd be back in a few minutes and he nodded solemnly before hunching forward and closing her eyes. He'd been walking the same hour long routed for the past decade and he was looking old these days. A good man, Jay was, I thought to myself.
Leaving him then I crossed the street. My spot was located on a steep slope; when I play I'm completely facing the folks climbing the hill while my back is to the faces of those coming down. The position seems to work well since most of the people who stop to listen only do so for an excuse to catch their breath. Then they have to pay out something so that they can continue to think nobody noticed.
The other thing this tilted perspective effects is where I go on my breaks. I choose entirely based upon how tired I am or how hot it is rather than where I might like to go or for what I hope to fetch. Consequently, I hardly know what I want anymore. (Aren't the lot of us mood-oriented?)
Up the hill and into the heat, I went as a closet masochist will do. I felt I needed to be tired and slightly feverish to pull off the rest of the night. It seemed I might even play better that way. Too bad for my retired fan.
The places on my right stood still and let me pass. I could distinguish them from those on my left only for the side of my neck that currently throbbed. I could see sounds being created in the distance but what I heard moments later was bodiless and distinctly alone. I stopped suddenly on my intent passage when I noticed a new face to as old a profession as mine.
He was a youngish boy, probably nineteen. Sitting cross-legged on the concrete, he had a cat on his lap and held a harmonica to his mouth, wailing on it in a way that I hadn't realized was possible. He'd yet to draw any serious people but I knew that would change; his hook was an irresistible one. Even to me. I left him a quarter of what I had made so far (we don't think in terms of amount when we give up our own earnings, but rather percentages). He didn't even look up at me and I knew pride at this. After staying to listen for a little while I turned completely around and left, hoping he felt the same way I did when my woman did this. I bought Jay a sweet, sweet coffee on my way back to him, carrying my own bitter brew in opposite hand.
Mitch & Bethany
"Have you told Indie anything about this?"
"Immediately at hearing her name, Beth watched the tension of defense creep into Mitch's forest green aura.
"What does she have to do with this?" he asked with a new warning in his still soft tone.
The noise shot from me; I laughed at him cruelly, knowing it would do him good but feeling a little bad anyway. "Come on, Mitch! It has everything to do with her!"
"Why (the hell/fuck) would you say that?" his foul/dirty mouth demanded, once again sounding familiar/recognizable to Beth.
"We both know I'd never give you a chance to fulfill this oh-so-risque sudden fantasy of yours--fucking the lesbian girl-next-door that's madly in-love with your sister who's conveniently off travelling?! Ha! Talk about too freakin' easy, my man."
"I said, 'make love,'" he stated redunantly, angry now but as stubborn as ever.
"Mitch." I looked at him as sincerely as I could, and tried putting a little smile of forgiveness in my eyes, because I knew that's all he really wanted. His glare lost a bit of the fight they'd begun to hold. "Look kid, I know you love me, just like you know I love you. How could we not when we've known each other blissfully for ages!?" I paused to/and let the casual confession drift away. "But there's no way we could ever manage being lovers, and we both know that by now, too. If you're suddenly thinking about me like this...it's only because something not-so-good is going on between you and Indie." That is/in other words, the woman the poor guy was in-love with. "Something that you don't want to think about. And I'm not the bangin' easy out you almost think you want (me to be). Don't be getting scared enough to do yourself a disservice, okay dude?"
Silly Mitch sighed heavy. "Quit lecturing me Beth, okay? And then maybe I'll talk to you--even though I know you're wrong."
"Ha! Fair enough," Beth exclaimed cheerfully. "Well, you know how I love to be enlightened, my goodly mate!"
"Yeah right," Mitch too-darkly replied, happily without any hint of forsaken apology. Then we sat in crazy tense silence--his--until he untied the big red love-balloon and exhaled aloud his coming-to-terms. "Do you remember how Indie and I first met?" he asked me, suddenly so unintense in comparison to only moments ago. [Thinking about Indie rather than something that excites him--at least, still seems interesting to him. :(]
"Not really...actually, I don't know if either of you have ever told me! And I'm pretty positive that I would have asked you guys by now, didn't I?" Perplexed, my/her face (was).
"You did. Almost everyone did, since that's what you do when you meet a brand new person hanging with your age-old friends. And we never told a one of you guys--I don't even know how we pulled it off! But it was definitely (a) deliberate (move)."
"Oh yeah?! Well that's pretty mysterious Mr. Honesty! What would possess you to do such a thing? Overpowering and hollow black shame? Red-hot passionate blushing sessions? Unforgivable sudden loss of memory!?"
"Quit being strange. It was sort of an unspoken reticence... the scene was just lame enough for both of us to be embarrassed, without wanting to be called (out) on it." He hesitated, then, "You know what I mean? From the very start, it was like we formed our relationship into something neither of us could be proud of--and we each made that damning choice all by ourselves." [Eh! but maybe only he did...and then took a course in projection.]
We let this sit--and then I couldn't contain myself any longer/more: "And you're not being just a tad bit melodramatic, dear? 'Damning' isn't too strong of a word here?!"
"Whatever. The point is that we ended it before we started."
But now it's been two flippin' years! I thought, flabbergasted. In that much time, something must have happened that bested this argument... Sheesh! Talk about a tired case of fatalism--as if neither of them could fix a fuck-up!? But I wanted him to tell me about this date from the unfortunate limits of a hellish limbo. That is, BEFORE my big-opined and unrelinquishing mouth buttoned-up his--especially without giving our expected flaky-crusted kiwi tart a chance to shine its light through to the tail end of this tunnel.
(Enjoy the cold, my most gracious love!)
"Immediately at hearing her name, Beth watched the tension of defense creep into Mitch's forest green aura.
"What does she have to do with this?" he asked with a new warning in his still soft tone.
The noise shot from me; I laughed at him cruelly, knowing it would do him good but feeling a little bad anyway. "Come on, Mitch! It has everything to do with her!"
"Why (the hell/fuck) would you say that?" his foul/dirty mouth demanded, once again sounding familiar/recognizable to Beth.
"We both know I'd never give you a chance to fulfill this oh-so-risque sudden fantasy of yours--fucking the lesbian girl-next-door that's madly in-love with your sister who's conveniently off travelling?! Ha! Talk about too freakin' easy, my man."
"I said, 'make love,'" he stated redunantly, angry now but as stubborn as ever.
"Mitch." I looked at him as sincerely as I could, and tried putting a little smile of forgiveness in my eyes, because I knew that's all he really wanted. His glare lost a bit of the fight they'd begun to hold. "Look kid, I know you love me, just like you know I love you. How could we not when we've known each other blissfully for ages!?" I paused to/and let the casual confession drift away. "But there's no way we could ever manage being lovers, and we both know that by now, too. If you're suddenly thinking about me like this...it's only because something not-so-good is going on between you and Indie." That is/in other words, the woman the poor guy was in-love with. "Something that you don't want to think about. And I'm not the bangin' easy out you almost think you want (me to be). Don't be getting scared enough to do yourself a disservice, okay dude?"
Silly Mitch sighed heavy. "Quit lecturing me Beth, okay? And then maybe I'll talk to you--even though I know you're wrong."
"Ha! Fair enough," Beth exclaimed cheerfully. "Well, you know how I love to be enlightened, my goodly mate!"
"Yeah right," Mitch too-darkly replied, happily without any hint of forsaken apology. Then we sat in crazy tense silence--his--until he untied the big red love-balloon and exhaled aloud his coming-to-terms. "Do you remember how Indie and I first met?" he asked me, suddenly so unintense in comparison to only moments ago. [Thinking about Indie rather than something that excites him--at least, still seems interesting to him. :(]
"Not really...actually, I don't know if either of you have ever told me! And I'm pretty positive that I would have asked you guys by now, didn't I?" Perplexed, my/her face (was).
"You did. Almost everyone did, since that's what you do when you meet a brand new person hanging with your age-old friends. And we never told a one of you guys--I don't even know how we pulled it off! But it was definitely (a) deliberate (move)."
"Oh yeah?! Well that's pretty mysterious Mr. Honesty! What would possess you to do such a thing? Overpowering and hollow black shame? Red-hot passionate blushing sessions? Unforgivable sudden loss of memory!?"
"Quit being strange. It was sort of an unspoken reticence... the scene was just lame enough for both of us to be embarrassed, without wanting to be called (out) on it." He hesitated, then, "You know what I mean? From the very start, it was like we formed our relationship into something neither of us could be proud of--and we each made that damning choice all by ourselves." [Eh! but maybe only he did...and then took a course in projection.]
We let this sit--and then I couldn't contain myself any longer/more: "And you're not being just a tad bit melodramatic, dear? 'Damning' isn't too strong of a word here?!"
"Whatever. The point is that we ended it before we started."
But now it's been two flippin' years! I thought, flabbergasted. In that much time, something must have happened that bested this argument... Sheesh! Talk about a tired case of fatalism--as if neither of them could fix a fuck-up!? But I wanted him to tell me about this date from the unfortunate limits of a hellish limbo. That is, BEFORE my big-opined and unrelinquishing mouth buttoned-up his--especially without giving our expected flaky-crusted kiwi tart a chance to shine its light through to the tail end of this tunnel.
(Enjoy the cold, my most gracious love!)
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Mitch & Bethany
"If you could do anything right now, what would you do?"
"I would make love."
"Ha!"
"What, hey!?"
"That's just pretty sweet, dude. Not 'have sex' or 'fuck some' or 'bone like rabbits', but 'make love'."
"'Bone like rabbits'?"
"It's a euphemism, I hear."
"From who?!"
"From you!"
"..." ... "Oh."
"Ha!"
"Whatever! So what would you do--if anything?"
"Well I would make love," I responded with a facetious-feeling grin.
"Oh yeah?! Who with?"
"With myself--I'm the best I've had yet! Hey what about you, big guy? Since you apparently had some specific body in mind, hmm? Indie?"
"No... Never mind, forget it."
I blinked at my friend in surprise at his indicative and sudden bashfulness. I decided to risk goading him on a bit anyway. "You were totally gonna say with me!"
He turned beet red at this unexpected turn of his skirting flirtatious efforts, but then reminded me why I liked him. "So what?" he asked simply.
"Where would you have sex with me, dude!? We're at a freakin' coffee shack!"
"I said, 'make love'," (he insisted,) still red.
I looked at him until he looked back up again to meet my eyes. I had quit pretending to laugh, for the moment.
"Where?"
"In my bed," with less hesitation.
"How long have you been thinking about this?"
"Since I woke up this morning. I was just laying there and it dawned on me that I wanted you with me." The son of a bitch looked at me the whole time he said it. My freakin' stomach tightened, which I didn't expect, but I took it (well).
"Are you gonna tell me about it, then?"
"Would you like me to?"
"Yeah," I said.
"Alright," he said.
You would have been sleeping still, and I begin quietly because I don't want/I'm not ready to wake you up (yet). I run the pads of my fingers softly down the line of your jaw, then follow the rail with my tongue as slow as I can, tasting you. You wake up instantly, like I knew you would, and I can tell because you are no longer breathing. But you don't move, and you keep your eyes closed. The scent of you skin reminds me of myself and your silent encouragement convinces me to ignore the slamming in my chest. I lick my lips and press them against your throat, feeling the sudden motion/movement of your pulse.
I open my mouth very slightly and bring a small flavor of you between my lips, moving at the same time into a better position. Still laying on my side, I close the distance between us so that I am pressing against the side of you as you lay on your back, almost shaking it seems to me. With one hand I lift the thin sheet that still covers your chest and I move my mouth slowly away from your neck, lowering my lips near the top of your breasts and kissing you there, just below your collarbone. With my free arm I encircle your fast rising and falling rib cage, letting myself brush across your nipples and watching your whole body react to that tiny touch. I look up at your face and see that your eyes are squeezed tight now, but at some point you had resumed shallow breathing. I duck down before you can recover and close the whole warmth of my mouth over your right nipple. I almost lose it when your body spasms against me, jerking your hips upward and making you gasp sharply. Your eyes snap open then and after only a moment your hands find my face and you pull my mouth to yours, kissing me for the first time as I finally move to place myself gently over you. Pressing down slowly, I feel that my hands are shuddering now.
Sheet still between us, you start to squirm as though impatient beneath me, even while your arms have found their way around the back of my neck, keeping me where I am. Right before I think you'd just as well kill me then move one more time like that, at last you loose one of your soft hands, moving/placing it between us to stroke me. I moan wretchedly into our still-joined mouths and you press yourself upward again, somehow freeing one of your legs from the sheet and wrapping it around my waist. So sweetly inviting now, I feel your lips gently/finally press a smile into mine.
[While we only pretend, to pretend.]
"I would make love."
"Ha!"
"What, hey!?"
"That's just pretty sweet, dude. Not 'have sex' or 'fuck some' or 'bone like rabbits', but 'make love'."
"'Bone like rabbits'?"
"It's a euphemism, I hear."
"From who?!"
"From you!"
"..." ... "Oh."
"Ha!"
"Whatever! So what would you do--if anything?"
"Well I would make love," I responded with a facetious-feeling grin.
"Oh yeah?! Who with?"
"With myself--I'm the best I've had yet! Hey what about you, big guy? Since you apparently had some specific body in mind, hmm? Indie?"
"No... Never mind, forget it."
I blinked at my friend in surprise at his indicative and sudden bashfulness. I decided to risk goading him on a bit anyway. "You were totally gonna say with me!"
He turned beet red at this unexpected turn of his skirting flirtatious efforts, but then reminded me why I liked him. "So what?" he asked simply.
"Where would you have sex with me, dude!? We're at a freakin' coffee shack!"
"I said, 'make love'," (he insisted,) still red.
I looked at him until he looked back up again to meet my eyes. I had quit pretending to laugh, for the moment.
"Where?"
"In my bed," with less hesitation.
"How long have you been thinking about this?"
"Since I woke up this morning. I was just laying there and it dawned on me that I wanted you with me." The son of a bitch looked at me the whole time he said it. My freakin' stomach tightened, which I didn't expect, but I took it (well).
"Are you gonna tell me about it, then?"
"Would you like me to?"
"Yeah," I said.
"Alright," he said.
You would have been sleeping still, and I begin quietly because I don't want/I'm not ready to wake you up (yet). I run the pads of my fingers softly down the line of your jaw, then follow the rail with my tongue as slow as I can, tasting you. You wake up instantly, like I knew you would, and I can tell because you are no longer breathing. But you don't move, and you keep your eyes closed. The scent of you skin reminds me of myself and your silent encouragement convinces me to ignore the slamming in my chest. I lick my lips and press them against your throat, feeling the sudden motion/movement of your pulse.
I open my mouth very slightly and bring a small flavor of you between my lips, moving at the same time into a better position. Still laying on my side, I close the distance between us so that I am pressing against the side of you as you lay on your back, almost shaking it seems to me. With one hand I lift the thin sheet that still covers your chest and I move my mouth slowly away from your neck, lowering my lips near the top of your breasts and kissing you there, just below your collarbone. With my free arm I encircle your fast rising and falling rib cage, letting myself brush across your nipples and watching your whole body react to that tiny touch. I look up at your face and see that your eyes are squeezed tight now, but at some point you had resumed shallow breathing. I duck down before you can recover and close the whole warmth of my mouth over your right nipple. I almost lose it when your body spasms against me, jerking your hips upward and making you gasp sharply. Your eyes snap open then and after only a moment your hands find my face and you pull my mouth to yours, kissing me for the first time as I finally move to place myself gently over you. Pressing down slowly, I feel that my hands are shuddering now.
Sheet still between us, you start to squirm as though impatient beneath me, even while your arms have found their way around the back of my neck, keeping me where I am. Right before I think you'd just as well kill me then move one more time like that, at last you loose one of your soft hands, moving/placing it between us to stroke me. I moan wretchedly into our still-joined mouths and you press yourself upward again, somehow freeing one of your legs from the sheet and wrapping it around my waist. So sweetly inviting now, I feel your lips gently/finally press a smile into mine.
[While we only pretend, to pretend.]
Mitch & Bethany
Rounding the corner of Cedar and Elm, a young man walks near the middle of the day. The houses pile up behind him as he passes by and each one is occupied in a random degree; whole lives play out their existence around him, but he doesn't fully appreciate this. And right now he doesn't think about it all.
"Dude, what's going on!?" A girl marches out of a storefront with oversized books showing through the window. On a plank affixed above the single doorway, 'The Scribe' is carved and painted in black shadow.
"Hiya Miss Bethany. How goes it?" says the man trekking toward the itty-bitty woman. (Indie is exactly his height, in fact...not this blessed waif-girl.) On his lips tease a flickering spark of smile as though he anticipated the punchline to a joke he'd heard before that promised satisfaction.
"It's going good, Mitch. I've just had an epiphany as a matter of fact, waiting around all day for you--as usual."
"Oh yeah? How so?" the man responds. He wondered if she had any idea that she was grinning? Squinting her eyes as if considering whether or not he was worthy of this new discovery of hers--did she know that she undermined her coarse scrutiny every time, grinning this way?/like this/that?
The woman with the open smile shifts her weight from one foot to the next, back and forth while she studies the man before her. She has brown-bobbed hair and large/ish dark teal eyes. She'll chew on the right side of her lip until it's fully digested before hurrying along her careful regard of him. And hypocritically so/at that. "I think you should invest in 'The Scribe'," she tells him at last.
"I am invested in 'The Scribe'," he laughed at the serious expression accompanying her bizarre proposal. "I spend all of my free afternoons here, remember?"
"Exactly--so why not buy me out of a portion and pay yourself back a bit?" the woman finishes rushing then stands with every appearance of self-satisfaction.
The youngish man scoffs and takes his own turn squinting his light blue eyes in exaggerated distrust. He couldn't imagine what she was talking about--he had thought that she wouldn't have parted with that place of hers even if she had to start paying to keep the damn thing open!
"What's this madness you're playing at Beth? Since when are you willing to give away any real share of 'The Scribe'?"
The woman shifts her weight again. "Go and tell your lady-friend 'hello'. She won't want to leave today, so come out to lunch with me and chat a bit, yeah?"
"Dude, what's going on!?" A girl marches out of a storefront with oversized books showing through the window. On a plank affixed above the single doorway, 'The Scribe' is carved and painted in black shadow.
"Hiya Miss Bethany. How goes it?" says the man trekking toward the itty-bitty woman. (Indie is exactly his height, in fact...not this blessed waif-girl.) On his lips tease a flickering spark of smile as though he anticipated the punchline to a joke he'd heard before that promised satisfaction.
"It's going good, Mitch. I've just had an epiphany as a matter of fact, waiting around all day for you--as usual."
"Oh yeah? How so?" the man responds. He wondered if she had any idea that she was grinning? Squinting her eyes as if considering whether or not he was worthy of this new discovery of hers--did she know that she undermined her coarse scrutiny every time, grinning this way?/like this/that?
The woman with the open smile shifts her weight from one foot to the next, back and forth while she studies the man before her. She has brown-bobbed hair and large/ish dark teal eyes. She'll chew on the right side of her lip until it's fully digested before hurrying along her careful regard of him. And hypocritically so/at that. "I think you should invest in 'The Scribe'," she tells him at last.
"I am invested in 'The Scribe'," he laughed at the serious expression accompanying her bizarre proposal. "I spend all of my free afternoons here, remember?"
"Exactly--so why not buy me out of a portion and pay yourself back a bit?" the woman finishes rushing then stands with every appearance of self-satisfaction.
The youngish man scoffs and takes his own turn squinting his light blue eyes in exaggerated distrust. He couldn't imagine what she was talking about--he had thought that she wouldn't have parted with that place of hers even if she had to start paying to keep the damn thing open!
"What's this madness you're playing at Beth? Since when are you willing to give away any real share of 'The Scribe'?"
The woman shifts her weight again. "Go and tell your lady-friend 'hello'. She won't want to leave today, so come out to lunch with me and chat a bit, yeah?"
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