the Wakefield Doctrine

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.

So we awoke to read, over at Chris’s Six, that the much rumour’d Six Sentence Café & Bistro Poetry Slam is on for …next Week. As in August 27!

As with the previous event (April 2023), the binding convention lies with its location, the Six Sentence Café and Bistro. While the layout of the main floor (‘three steps down from the sidewalk’) is well known to most, we’re providing a Link Here to all who might be curious and want to join the Proprietors: Mimi, Denise/the Bartender, Nick/the Gatekeeper and our host this year, Chris/la Raconteuse next week.

Prompt word:

FUNCTION

The tall, thin man righted the dumbwaiter and immediately turned and walked out of Room 215…

{WAIT… No, I’M FINE… NEED I PRINT LARGER?}

While the design scale and length of the automaton’s legs were inherently limited to his Four Foot frame, the actual mechanical function of locomotion wasn’t; not so much Road Runner level blurring of feet, but suffice to say the dumbwaiter caught up before his rescuer got to the staircase that lead down to the main floor…

{WHERE ARE WE GOING?}

The Proprietor paused to read the most recent Intertitle card held by his companion, “Are you asking for a one word answer or a full description of the path and the ultimate destination?”

{I’VE BEEN TRAPPED IN MY INVENTOR’S WORKSHOP FOR A HUNDRED YEARS, YOU BE THE JUDGE..}

“Well, these stairs go down one floor and let us out on the hallway which, if we go right, as we will, we will pass the Manager’s Office and a short distance further we’ll come to an area that opens out onto the Bistro; bar running along on our left, to the right the open space full of small round tables and, halfway down the interior brick wall, also to our right, the small stage where our Poetry Slam will happen; oh, in case anyone asks, along the wall opposite the stage, sixty feet or so, a series of curtained alcoves, dig?”

{DUDE, WAY TO INFO DUMP THE PHYSICAL LAYOUT OF THE SIX SENTENCE CAFE & BISTRO!}

 

*borrowed this fun expression from the incredible FireSign Theatre from way back in the Before Time

Speaking of fun… reserve your internet keyboard for next Thursday Ate-27-twenny-twenny Six!

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:

FUNCTION

The tall, thin man slowed as he approached Room 215; the walk from the ground floor Café & Bistro would have been as quick as from the convenience store to your car except for the soul-battering whorls of darkness that lined the hallways at random intervals.

Lighting a cigarette he walked past doors, some marked with normal alphanumeric numbers, other by sigils of a decidedly foreign character and still others were un-marked which was, somehow, worse; smoking produced a twofold benefit: inhaling deeply, the nicotine dumped dopamine-laden memories of pleasure in times passed and as a bonus, the darkness that inhabited the empty hallways viewed his self-destructive habit with approval.

Now standing at the door to Room 215, the Proprietor recalled the hastily-prepared Seller Disclosure provided when he, Mimi,  Denise, Chris and Nick, (the majority of the Proprietors who voted to purchase the abandoned mill building), might have been a bit on the sketchy side in listing material (or immaterial) defects to the property.

Without warning, an earworm, no doubt thrown by one of the dark-streams as a maleficent distraction prior to entering the room; his memory/auditory lobes wrestled like a sophomore coed at her first kegger into connecting the words ‘function’ and junction’ all embedded in a catchy scat-jazz tune.

Hand on the knob, the tall, thin man heard a rhythmic thumping overlayed with a metal on metal tone that sounded just plain sad; stepping into the room, he saw the dumbwaiter on it’s right side on the floor, it’s left hand and arm raising and lowering a card;

{Where Did Everyone Go?}

{Not Again…∩ ! }

*

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:

FIRE

“Frank, will you be staying?”

The tall, thin man stood in the middle of the Bistro amid numerous empty tables, a derelict ship caught in the embrace of exceptionally powerful doldrums somewhere in a low-number latitude.

la Raconteuse was in conversation with Mimi and the Bartender and the new poetess, Aurelia, had been seated at the bar looking, for reasons beyond the Proprietor’s imagination, uncomfortable.

Taking out his phone, the Manager’s thumb became as frenetic as a teenager in a 11:30 pm car backseat doing his best to start a fire limited to materials and body-parts available; smiling at this confabulation, paused and then triggered the jukebox.

The Proprietor, even as the neurons connecting his brain to his hand, (all nearly as poorly moderated as the aforementioned late-night teenager), closed his eyes, laughed to himself and waited for the music.

The sympathetic response of muscles to the rhythm section, while not winning a Dancing With the Stars contest, did open a door, (or a window or maybe, simply lettres de transit to a far earlier/younger iteration); and, as with most gifts acquired in life’s trials, the tall, thin man accepted the restrictions inherent in the space in which he might visit his past-self, as being well worth the enjoyment of the music.

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… no, today’s Six introduces the character of Cyrus St. Loreto to wit , Read this excerpt from ‘Home and Heart’ (A Sister Margaret Ryan Mystery)

Prompt word:

FIRE

“I want it back,” Cyrus St. Loreto, owner of the Bernebau Company, stood at the window wall of his penthouse office in the Santa Cristo Building staring down at the financial heart of Miami, he felt no need to turn around.

Genevieve Novak halfway, somewhere halfway between where her boss and her single-desk reception area that welcomed anyone riding the only elevator to the penthouse; the nature and character of her working relationship with the CEO of Bernebau Company was to the thousands of employees improbably resistant to credible definition, a testament to the Owner’s imprinting on corporate culture.

The sole receptionist on the 36th floor remained as quiet as a nun in a confessional awaiting counsel and penance; still and focused on her boss as a snake charmer on a woven-reed basket.

“What is standing in the way?”

“There are a number of people who are working in the belief they will be able to take possession of the component presently en route to Chicago.”

Cyrus turned from the view down Brickell Ave with an expression that manifested the provocative idiom, ‘to fight fire with fire’, even as Genevieve continued,

“A niece of Lou Caesare, the mob boss with whom we recently concluded unsuccessful negotiations, by the name of Rosetta Storm, her companion of no account, a nun accompanied by a guide of questionable character and, …Anya Claireaux.”