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

This is the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise

So, by now you’re familiar with a certain establishment located on a lesser street in what once was the industrial section of an un-named city, by the name, Six Sentence Café and Bistro. This week’s Six is one of a number of Sixes written on the theme of a certain night at the club.

The prompt word:

CONTROL

“Everyone’s finally left for wherever they consider home.”

The tall, thin man walked through the empty Café for a final inspection, even as the pale light of dawn, filtering down from the high transom windows on the street-side wall, painted the floor with gold trapezoids that stretched and broke against the spindles of chairs, dusty waves seeking oblivion on the shore.

“No, not bad at all,” quiet laughter from the man eased him into the chair behind the desk in the office on the far-side of the door with ‘Manager’ spelled out in hardware store reflective letters.

“Thank god for Nick, they ought to put his picture next to the dictionary entry, ‘Stalwart’; Ford was, well, Ford was whatever is the current term for ‘socially confident’ which makes him a canny emcee and not half bad on the drums; and Tom, we were surely blessed that he stopped in, not that Mimi has anything to worry about, but he has this thing, I read in a story or saw in a movie, where the person knew exactly what the diner needed, even when they didn’t.”

“I miss you,” the man squinted for a second, as if straining to see something too distant or trying to sooth a sudden irritation in his eyes, a slight cough in the middle of an unconscious grin returned his breathing to normal, “No, I was remembering the time we came to get you at the hospital, you were staring at the orderly pushing the gurney, swear to god, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else; but it was your expression when you looked up and noticed us watching that still makes us smile in recollection.”

“Gotta go; the dawn light and solitary morning sounds make the streets and alleys here as close to a church as I need, the day at this moment is all promise and, given how few are up and about, offers little temptation to believe that control of the future is anything more than a fool’s mission; I love you,” the tall, thin man smiled down at the blinking red battery light on the phone and walked out of the club.