Six Sentence Story | the Wakefield Doctrine

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine-

January 8, 2025 By clarkscottroger

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise it is governed by a single rule: all stories must be exactly six sentence in length.

Prompt word:

MACHINE

Leaving his third floor apartment, the Sophomore resolved anew to accept that he had been transported fifty-five years into the future from his eponymous second year of college and, upon further reflection, added to his New Year resolutions the goal of nurturing gratitude for finding himself in the company of the people, who, for reasons no one thought to explain, called themselves Proprietors of the Six Sentence Café and Bistro. While lacking the laid-back vibe and remarkable music scene of the end of the ’60s, he knew if he was ever going to find how or even why he’d been temporally dislocated, he needed to embrace the present.

The sidewalk, as he approached the Café, ceased being a brick ‘n soot maze, the work of the first modern industrial engineers serving the monied-patriarchs sitting in homes in the city’s finest neighborhoods, known, without the slightest sense of irony, as College Hill; the young man smiled at the memory the girl he met at a college mixer in the Ivy League school on the Hill, his mood souring with the realization that she would now be seventy-three years old.

The five-story building that housed the Café and served as the involuntary time-traveler’s sanctuary, came into view as he turned the final corner but his attention was hijacked by a billboard sign in the middle of a freshly cleaned lot.

Brand new and totally incongruous, it offered the image of a family walking, in the background were open fields and distant mountains; the adults were smiling grimly and the two children gazed upwards; the artwork was in a pointillist style with an earthy palette, the result was thoroughly wholesome and homespun.

Dominating the top half of the 10.5 by 36 foot sign were two lines of text;

in comic sans:

‘The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog’

below which, in Times New Roman:

‘Serve the Machine and your needs will be met’.

Filed Under: Fashion Center, Featured, Psychology, the Wakefield Doctrine Tagged With: Six Sentence Story, the Wakefield Doctrine

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- Part 1 (… earlier that same, final evening of the Year)

January 2, 2025 By clarkscottroger

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, it requires but one thing from participating writers: the story must consist of exactly six sentences.

Yeah, this is the first part of a two part Six (not to mention something of a prequel to our host’s own set of stories set in the eponymous locale of the Six Sentence Café & Bistro.)

Prompt word:

STYLE

“And don’t forget, ladies, post your dance schedules to your social media and link to the Club’s site, we’ll take care of the video feed,” Diane Tierney stood, half-in half-out of the swinging doors just behind Lou’s booth where she could watch the front door and the kitchen and the dressing room full of strippers, “Salome, count your veils, last week you got to 13, I assure you, Rue will not be happy if you cut into her time, she is our headliner.”

She turned and almost collided with me, so naturally I smiled and managed a ‘Early Happy New Year, Diane, which earned me a distracted smile and a hand on my arm; I’ll take it.

Without the slight hint of glissando, the volume of the house-music dipped suddenly, causing the packed house to mutter un-spellable interrogatives; Diane’s eyes change from a hush of purple to a flare of violet; say what you will about her personal life, the woman had style.

The shoals of revelers, including those who hoped to wish the owner, Lou Caesare, a happy New Year, which, not for nothin’ did not count against a body, went full-on Red Sea between the currently vacant hostess station and where I’d stepped back a step, putting me at Lou’s left shoulder; note to self: the glance of approval from the man at my possibly unintended stance of protectiveness made the previous 364 days way better.

For the first time in the three-and-a-half-years I’ve know Lou, this was the first time I’ve seen him get up from his side of the booth to greet a visitor.

Extending his hand to one of the Proprietors of the Six Sentence Café & Bistro, Lou’s eyes never left those of the young woman; the smile on his face would make the Mona Lisa consider shaving her head and getting a nose ring; my sole New Year’s resolution became to develop a tenth of the man’s style.

Filed Under: Featured, Psychology, the Wakefield Doctrine Tagged With: Six Sentence Story, the Wakefield Doctrine

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- Part 2 [a Café Six]

January 1, 2025 By clarkscottroger

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise it has but one rule: make it Six Sentences, binyons

This being a Six Sentence Café & Bistro story, it is most likely there will be other writers contributing views, perspectives and parallel (as well as intersecting) storylines. For example, our host, Denise’s first Six is set in the Café later on the same New Year’s Eve.

Prompt word:

STYLE

The tall, thin man, holding open the inner door, allowed himself to be caught in the riptide of cigarette smoke, Viktor & Rolfe and good, old-fashioned pheromones as Rosetta Storm swept into the Six Sentence Café & Bistro.

He spotted, in the fairly crowded club, his fellow Proprietors in their usual places; the Gatekeeper stood outside at the top of the three stairs leading down from the sidewalk to the Café, Charon didn’t have nothin’ on him; Chris, who, at times aka’d the scene as Raconteuse, was at her table just beyond the small stage, bathed in the halo of colors streaming from the laptop that served as anchor while she jaunted through worlds both fictional and real; Tom, visible in the kitchen by way of the porthole windows of the swinging doors, a ghost with a cleaver, he could be heard speaking to someone out of sight, “Well, faith ‘n begorra, I know it’s not ye style, why don’cha tell her off now …me head’s chocka, life’s too short lass.”

Walking towards their table, the tall, thin man heard friendly greetings and well-wishes from new customers and regulars, yet was enchanted by the glittering cascade of sequins that claimed to be his young companion’s evening dress, giving truth to the fact that magic spells draw the majority of their power from the soul of the target rather than the mind of the sorcerer.

Rosetta stopped at a table occupied by two couples and stood, an ever-so-slight cantilever to her left hip; there was a dip in the temperature of the air to make an 18th Century ghost hunter wail in envy; with barely a nod to the hapless group, Rosetta tossed her Birken clutch onto the table as the hapless foursome gathered their personal property and sought the social balm of being indistinguishable among the crowd of celebrants surrounding them.

The tall, thin man stepped behind the young woman at the now empty table; her smile was deflected by his grin as he contimued to scan the bar for one or both the remaining Proprietors, Mimi and the Bartender.

As carnal ransom, (or profane obeisance), Rosetta pressed back against the Proprietor’s hands as he held her chair, exceedingly confident of herself as well as her couture, and recalled her dresser’s shy comment earlier in the evening, “If the eyes are the mirror to one’s soul, this dress is a reflection of the Underworld.”

Filed Under: Featured, Psychology, the Wakefield Doctrine Tagged With: clarkscottroger, Six Sentence Story, the Wakefield Doctrine

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- [a Café Six]

December 26, 2024 By clarkscottroger

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, it requires but one thing from participating writers: the story must consist of exactly six sentences.

Prompt word:

ADMISSION

“I know you’re old and, admit it or not, for New Year’s Eve, your idea of a good time is get all Savoy Row’d and go to a restaurant with a chick you never thought you had a shot with and, what do they say in the old movies, ‘Ring in the New Year’?” (#R,Stone)

(( how’d u get this # ))

“Seein’ how all you ‘Proprietors’ are scared of my… of Lou… yes ‘the mob guy’, jeez; take me to the Bottom of the Sea for a little visit, show my friends there I haven’t been kidnapped by weirdos and I’ll come back here with you for the Ring in the New Year thing.” (#Rosetta S)

(( lol ur scheduled to work ))

“Sure, wait, what the hell!! no worries, I’ll get one of the others to cover for me, at least anyone other than your psycho-Bartender bitch who, not for nothin’, is startin’ to impress me, you know what I’m saying… and, as my favorite professor in law school used to joke, admission is nine-tenths submission; now the Gatekeeper and Chris are almost too nice but your …your obeah woman, I just wanna stay in her good graces.” (#InUr Dreams)

(( here’s the deal: help each of the Proprietors get what they want most and we have a date; now delete my cell# ))

Filed Under: Featured, Psychology, the Wakefield Doctrine Tagged With: Six Sentence Story, the Wakefield Doctrine

-the Wakefield Doctrine- ‘a short-little Xmas post’ [a bonus Café Six]

December 24, 2024 By clarkscottroger

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is an early (by a day) Six Sentence Story.

Holiday post tomorrow am. Then this and perhaps another Six.

The tall, thin man sat behind the Office Supply Depot grey-metal desk, frothy Christmas music breaking against the office door, waves of cultural merriment relentless, but neutered.

The other Proprietors were in the public areas of the Six Sentence Café and Bistro, their voices, like tastefully-applied tinsel, effective as a group, yet each individually distinctive.

The voice of the Bartender moved lightly, easily determined if not constant location, in no small measure due to Tom‘s voice creating the slightest of reverb to her combination of hospitality and non-directive hostility

Chris‘s voice was a pool of quiet, rather evocative of her homeland, a life giving oasis in an otherwise predator-heavy environment; her laptop open on the small round table near the small stage, it’s display a wonder of multiple streams of stories, each independent yet linked in a way to include much more than a single narrative. Nearest the street-side door, now bedecked with a magic marker’d sign; Κλειστό για τα Χριστούγεννα Nick sat beneath a cumulus congestus bank of cigar smoke, smiling as Hūnga made his rounds, his species being the only true manifestation of the ubiquitous wandering figure of good will.

Mimi, sitting at the end of the long bar, turned her head ever-so-slightly towards the dark hallway and smiled, “Admission”.