Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

….don’t ask.

Well, if you insist.

Today’s post is what we refer to as a ‘starter story’ for a walk-on post. It allows anyone who’d like to join in a, ‘scene already in progress’, to have a sense of the basic plot. Our setting is the Six Sentence Café and Bistro on a Friday (or Thursday Saturday*) night. For reasons not yet established, Denise, Chris, Mimi and Jenne (and possibly some others) are all ‘out on the town’. Which leaves the remaining Proprietors (and a friend who, by chance or bad fortune, stopped by) to get through a semi-busy evening.

This post may be further updated (or another Six entirely, submitted on Thursday) but will adhere to Six Sentence Standards, i.e. the current week’s prompt word (CONTROL) and only Six Sentences.

Nick sat at the street-entrance end of the long bar and, in response to an inquisitive look from the tall, thin man, said, “I gave the kid the night off, something about a final exam and a video chat with, and I quote, ‘I can still work the door with you, it’s just that I got a vidchat with this kinda hot, slightly-older girl who’s traveling abroad.”

Silence grew like a dark spot in a petri dish full of nutrient agar and Kool-aid, and, despite the sound of the first of the evening’s customers on the street-side of the door, Nick began to smile, “…and our young Sophomore added, what I’m sure he considered the surefire close on his pitch, ‘Plus I have a last minute prep for a final exam, how hard can it be?'”

Tom, stepping through the swing doors from the kitchen didn’t hesitate, laugh-shouting, “Bar rump bump!!”; beating Ford’s rimshot by a micro-second for the sonic flag on the implied gender-mandatory play on words.

Smiling, the man with the bad posture, poor elocution and bespoke suit looked down at his Grand Complications Minute Repeater, at the moment struggling with an exquisitely tailored cuff for his attention, “Gentlemen, time is not our friend tonight and we’ll soon have a club full of guests.”

“Might I suggest we do our best to not get raided, shut-down or otherwise embarrassed by our lack of attention to detail while our distaff compatriots are out enjoying a well-deserved night off?”

Tom backed into the kitchen, Nick checked his flask and the ink supply in his hand-stamp, the tall, thin man moved among the tables arrayed before the small, one-step-up, bandstand and Ford, with absent-minded humor, began to play a song by Rush with a precision that served to remind all that control of the world and dominion over all ‘the animals and fowls and everything in the world’ was promised Adam; everyone laughed for different reasons.

*Thanks, Nick!**

** ed note: while it’s fun to try new things, sometimes, in a more interactive format as is today’s Post, it’s good when someone has yer back… in this case, the day of the week proposed for the interaction lacked reasonable credibility (and the thing is, even with fiction, it’s good not to have too many gaps in reality, you know what we mean?)

PS one joke remains, but we trust the term employed is suitably archaic to escape too close a scrutiny