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
Having but one rule: the sentence count for the story must be Six.
Prompt Word:
NAIL
“Hey tall err thin…. fuck, old man, where ya goin?” the Sophomore’s voice held an urgency common to the young when caught-up in an unexpected but overwhelmingly enjoyable event, a voice behind the music laughed, ‘Tell them it is the Raconteuse and she commands their attendance,’ a flare-up of voices laughing.. ‘yeah! immediately, post haste… don’t make us call jenne and Ford…” ; the remaining sound was celebration rather than information.
Stepping out of the darkness of the hallway, the tall, thin man stopped at the edge of the glow emanating from the Café, slow rollers of respect and love shared by two beings at the end of the bar broke around him, a human-scale Flying Dutchman at the mercy of the ocean.
The Proprietor smiled, “It’s good to see you two.”
Behind the bar, a computer screen flared into life in sync with both human’s phones: The bar display scrolled letters, “And don’t forget the Prompt word, (signed Major Tom); Mimi’s phone played a bar or two of Max Rebennack followed by an animated clouds of smoke spelling: ‘It Rhymes with Ace’, yours Ἥφαιστος and from the tall, thin man’s device, a audio file whispered, “If you three think I’m schlepping drinks up all those stairs, well, yes in fact my name is Bartender.”
Hūnga barked, in that special tone, which all too-few could translate, “You humans, you’re almost where you were Supposed to be.”
