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, constrained by a sentence limit (high and low) of six, there are worse ways to spend the remaining time you have on earth.

We have a Guest return to the Café this week…

Prompt word:

FOLD

The tall, thin man stepped from the hallway that connected the Café proper to the Manager’s office, the ebb-and-flow of darkness that pooled at the end of the corridor seemed to cling to his shoulders, folds of ebony like a sentient tide refusing to be constrained yet yielding to some order that confined it to this section of the original mill building.

The other Proprietors were standing and talking as they usually did after closing time: the Bartender idly polishing the warm, dark mahogany that drew a line along the wall, briefly interrupted by double swinging kitchen doors, immediately resuming the rigid aroura of liquor bottles backlit in white neon, continuing on to almost the front entrance, where the Gatekeeper stood, nursing his Ouzo, as he watched the door, nodding briefly to a figure who moved along the bar to the halfway point and stood next to la Raconteuse.

The sound of a new voice reached a point past where Mimi sat (guarding the darkness), just in front of the manager as he shrugged into his Dege & Skinner suit coat. It was a woman’s voice that was, somehow, made a person hear the opening notes of Rite of Spring; attention demanding, yet un-threatening even as the melody followed a path both exotic and familiar.

“You must be Reena,” the tall, thin man nodded, the intentional imbalance of the slightest hint of a bow sparked of a smile from Mimi at the far end of the bar.

Offering his hand, palm up, he smiled, “Welcome to the Six Sentence Café and Bistro” chorused by the other Proprietors in a jambalaya of assent, “Goeie Dag!”   “Hey, girl!”    “Kalós órises sto spíti mas”  “Bienvenue à notre maison”

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