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:

SLIP

“If you gentlemen would excuse me, I must have a word with my fellow Proprietors.”

The tall, thin man managed what, as unlikely a gesture in the ‘swipe ‘n scroll’ world of 21st Century social intercourse as holding a door for someone, was a subtle bow, nothing more than a certain incline of the upper body, offset by his steady eye-contact with each man, “Lou, mi casa es su casa, whenever you are in the neighborhood.”

Lou Caesare, shrugging into the coat held by his driver, paused, “Likewise, though I suspect my invitation to ya boy Frank here to stop in at the Bottom of the Sea fell on deaf ears, which is too bad seein’ how Diane just hired a new dancer by the name, Holli Spirit,” the club owner completed the topological miracle of slipping both tree trunk arms into the tailored overcoat while making it look graceful.

Waving away his driver and Frank, Lou leaned closer, “And about that matter with my niece Rosetta out in Chicago, I appreciate your efforts.”

“la Raconteuse! Jy is die een skrywer aan wie al die Muses veg om toegewys te word…” the Manager, turning to his left as Lou walked away, laughed unselfconsciously as Chris and Aurelia approached.

“Please tell me that was a genuine compliment in Afrikaans, the manager continued, “After my attempt to slip a Cajun greeting into the note attached to the balloon bouquet for Mimi several weeks ago and getting the spelling wrong, you’d think I’d swear off online translations.”

*