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, in our tale…

Prompt word:

YARN

“You fuckin’ crack me up, you know that?”

Lou Caesare manifested what could best be called an unbridled appetite for life; what he lacked in polish he more than made up for with simple, and mostly good-natured, exuberance, at least on those occasions he felt in the presence of friends.

“I like you Frank, I really do and anybody tries to mess with you and your Topo Gigio invisible friend, just gimme a sign, won’t be no trouble at all,” Lou leaned towards his new found friend, “Sister Imelda, my third grade teacher used to say, between whacking my knuckles raw for talking in the back of the class, “Remember what Proverbs tell us: “…lean not on your own understanding”; I know now what she meant, but back then I was kid dreaming of running the world, or at least my old neighborhood.”

“Not to get excessively meta…” the tall, thin man smiled a smile one might see on a successful broker’s face as he handed a client his business card, low key persistence.

Were it not for his euro-urban rasp, one might have missed Lou’s phonetic mimicry as he covered his mouth to poorly mute an explosive ‘Bullshit!’

Mimi, now that all had made it safely through the intermittently dark hallways, was where she preferred to be and for reasons impossible to understand, was assailed briefly by thoughts of Norns and skeins of bloody yarn.

*

*