Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.
Hosted by Denise
Having but one rule: the sentence count for the story must be Six.
Prompt Word:
NAIL
“Hey tall err thin…. fuck, old man, where ya goin?” the Sophomore’s voice held an urgency common to the young when caught-up in an unexpected but overwhelmingly enjoyable event, a voice behind the music laughed, ‘Tell them it is the Raconteuse and she commands their attendance,’ a flare-up of voices laughing.. ‘yeah! immediately, post haste… don’t make us call jenne and Ford…” ; the remaining sound was celebration rather than information.
Stepping out of the darkness of the hallway, the tall, thin man stopped at the edge of the glow emanating from the Café, slow rollers of respect and love shared by two beings at the end of the bar broke around him, a human-scale Flying Dutchman at the mercy of the ocean.
The Proprietor smiled, “It’s good to see you two.”
Behind the bar, a computer screen flared into life in sync with both human’s phones: The bar display scrolled letters, “And don’t forget the Prompt word, (signed Major Tom); Mimi’s phone played a bar or two of Max Rebennack followed by an animated clouds of smoke spelling: ‘It Rhymes with Ace’, yours Ἥφαιστος and from the tall, thin man’s device, a audio file whispered, “If you three think I’m schlepping drinks up all those stairs, well, yes in fact my name is Bartender.”
Hūnga barked, in that special tone, which all too-few could translate, “You humans, you’re almost where you were Supposed to be.”
About clarkscottroger
Fabulous, fabulous, fabulous! It’s great to be back with my Raconteuse.
We’re going to have lots of fun and drama and… well, whatever we want.
Thanks, Clark… and everyone, especially Hūnga.
the Bistro is one of the cooler places in the ‘sphere, no?
👏👏👏😎
Excellent!
ty
A happy homecoming for the Raconteuse.
yes sir
Frank, yo
(Anytime you’d like to stop in… just let us know, you’ll be totally welcome!*)
*and the stack of WatchTowers and ‘Gideon and Friends’ on the cigarette machine in the foyer, feel free to replenish or update or translate to modernize, (down the three granite steps from the sidewalk that runs down a barely-traffic city street in a neighborhood left behind by the last wave of urban redevelopment/gentrification efforts, empty factories and mills filling the blocks surrounding the still granite and brick memorials to the last Worker/Boss wars (in the sense of conflict, not the sense of equal adversaries)… the cigarette machine is on the right of this little cultural airlock (exterior door of oak and tired brass, the inner: stained-steel and glass) across from the machines (with their row of projecting handles, one for each of the brands on display) is a simple wooden bench which is most often used by the GateKeeper when he wants a party to pause before entering, but they have earned the courtesy of being out of the weather, which at this time, with the wind howling down the granite-and-brick canyons (there’s a legend that every windstorm tears a molecule of stone free of the structures and with it a soul of a worker trapped within); passing through the inner door the sight line to direct (at an angle left 45 degrees) to the small stage on the wall that forms the right side of the main room, directly ahead is the long bar that ends in a darkening hallway (one of the lesser known Wards on the Bistro is that if a new visitor catches a sight of a woman sitting at the far end of the bar, they are permitted to pass, if , however, they receive an nod from this person, an account is established on the books; the bartender is somewhere behind the length of darkwood, jumping, like a kid in the woods, over the intermittent flow of light from the kitchen, the double doors to which are at the center point as the cook creates whatever it is a customer deserves and this light (a combination of fluorescent and incandescent and …something else) is released out into the public space, with its reefs of circular wooden tables, waxy-netted candles lighting each with social- Crusoe illumination, to the far end where a quiet scribe sits at her monitor (most new customers are told the tale of a computer that transports the soul, rather than mere light and letters)… welcome to the Six Sentence Cafe and Bistro ‘Abandon all Fear and Regret All Who Enter… this last was thought to be inscribed over the entry to the hall that leads (from the far end of the bar) to the Manager’s office and the hungry darkness beyond…
It’s always a joy when someone comes home.
yes.
Hunga delivers the final words…Good doggo!
theys perfect lifeforms, they are
The best, right along with the quirky cat.