Drink and Dash (new material!)

Harry sighed and wiped his nose where the fly had been. The disinterested waitress looked up, now mildly interested by the expelled breath. Was it hers or his? It did not matter because she felt suddenly captivated by the war between his angelic features and the dark beast percolating inside him. Fully interested now, she took a cautious step forward, spellbound by the rapturous display of the dilemma battling on the thirsty stranger’s face. Harry looked up at her and jammed his hands into his pockets searching for spare change. Nothing. He grinned sheepishly, nodded, and mumbled a word of gratitude. He was through the door before she could stop him. When he turned back her pained look of bewilderment thrust into his heart like a dagger. He made a mental note to make amends and sprinted into the trees surrounding the café.

It would be autumn soon and the leaves covered in summer’s dust left a musty aroma at every step. Harry hated autumn. An annual reign of fear and depression loomed up at him. His gut tightened with anxiety causing waves of bile to crash against his esophagus. The leaves crunched underneath reminding him of grade school, of fear and of a foreboding gloomy winter of oppression.

He grunted as he hit the ground. “Darn shoelace”, he grumbled and rolled over to attack the offending string, saw that he was still wearing his boots and grumbled again. He pulled his foot closer, brushed the leaves from the worn brown leather and scanned the ground for the travel agent responsible for his recent trip. There, beneath his boot, a little worn and crumpled, was a five-dollar bill. “Well, huh…”, he mused and recognizing it for the omen that it was, hightailed it back to the café.

“Ah, just had to grab some cash…” he said pushing the bill toward the waitress,who had seemingly recovered from his abrupt departure. She paused for a brief moment, took a casual swipe at the spilled water, and looked up.

“No charge for water”, she answered, raising her left eyebrow, and pushed the bill back at him.

“Think I’ll have some cherry pie and a coffee, then”, he smiled, only slightly, then shoved the bill toward a dry spot and sat down.

“Sure thing”, she said, as she turned to grab a cup, looking briefly over her shoulder to see if he was still there.

The pie was good. She was good. As he pondered about letting her keep the entire five dollars, he took a final swig of coffee, dribbling most of it down the cleft in his chin. He watched the drops fall in slow motion toward the sparkling pink countertop and saw them suddenly soaked up by the sports section of the Magrath Rag. Her perfectly manicured finger tapped the headline. “Maybe”, she said, “You should read this”.

He looked up. Her bottle green eyes were piercing into his brain. Did all women have bottle green eyes? He looked down. The words floated up at him amidst the dribbled coffee.

To be continued...