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.

Previously…

Prompt word:

TAG

“Anyone still here?”

The tall, thin man stepped out of the perpetually-dark hallway that lead to the Manager’s Office (and other less hospitable parts of the nearly 140-year-old former mill building). The light from the public areas of the Café, like long-dead children playing a game of tag, failed to illuminate him to any degree, immediately sliding off him like water on a freshly Rain-X’d  windshield.

Behind the bar, the ice machine chortled it’s troll laughter, neon letters buzzed like flies sharing secrets with the bottle caps along the top-shelf liquor and, quite redundantly, a street-sweeper shushed it’s way along the three-in-the-morning dark; he did not, however, hear the opening of a door further down the hallway he just exited.

“Well, fine, be like that, we officially declare this establishment a Talk-Outloud-to-Yourself-if-You-Want Zone.”

The Proprietor, briefly surveying the public areas of the Café, draped his suit-coat on a nearby chair and began to place each chair upside down on the round, wood tabletops; for no reason other than his nature, the thought presented itself, immaterial assistant to his labors: ‘As above, so below.”

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