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Back in the High Life | Started by: Rudiger on Jul 02, '12 03:21 |
The bus lurched to a stop outside the Silver Spoon Cafe--a dive joint, five miles from anywhere interesting--end of the line. The listless faces paraded off in single file, shambling with little purpose, it seemed, to nowhere in particular. A matter of routine. The driver inpatiently counted the bodies off, until the movement had ceased, leaving his count minus one. He knew this scoundrel would be a bother the moment he boarded in Sedona. It had been a long drive. He was tired, it was hot, he just wanted to be rid of the people, rid of the responsibility.
He stood from his perch of authority and marched down the aisle, muttering to himself.
"No good... rats think they can... like they're the only... motherfuckers."
Halfway back, slumped against the window with the straw brim of his panama hat drawn low over his eyes, Rudiger lay unconscious. Miserably unaware of the world, until the fat hand of reality jabbed him in the side.
Uhn.
"Get the hell off my bus. Now." The bus driver spat out from between his burly jowels.
Rudiger straightened himself a bit, lifting his hat high on his head. He attempted in vain to wipe the fog from his eyes and peered groggily out the window. He let out half a sigh and turned once more to face the anthromorphic bloodhound.
This ain't my stop.
With a little kind help, Rudiger found his way off the bus and onto the sidewalk. He lifted himself to his feet, and briefly considered trying to wipe the road grime from his shirt before deciding that it wasn't hurting much. Supporting this decision was his reflection in the cafe window. A tangle of whiskers and sweat, shirt untucked and wrinkled. His face showing more creases than Japanese laundry. Grey hairs creeping slowly up his temple like parasitic weeds, hoping to wrap themselves into the rest of his unkempt black mop. Shoes dusty and cracked. Skin off color from self-prescribed chemical therapy.
Seems he was long removed from the city, and indeed it was true. He had long since gone out west to set himself right and make a name for himself as a decent man. But the plastics industry had dried up. For him, at least. Ten years is a long investment to return nothing but a trailer home in the desert and more crutches than a third world clinic. But he still had friends where it counted, he was sure. Though, his confidence hadn't counted much in the last few months. With any luck, and a few well placed phone calls, he could find a line of work in some capacity or another. The kinds of friends he kept last time he was around these parts, he remembered, weren't the kind to forget a good deed done. He only hoped that their memory was just as good.
But first things first, he thought. He could do with a shave and a haircut. |
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Spider took the whistling tea kettle off the hot burner and settled down on a pot holder that sat on the small space of counter in the small kitchen. She moved to the left of the stove, opened cupboard door and popped up on her tippy toes grabbing two coffee cups off a top shelf. Setting the ceramic mugs on the counter she dipped her body down and dug through one of the lower cabinets looking for single bags of tea. Finally she found some, but pulling it out she looked disgruntled. |
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Reply by: Spider at Jul 03, '12 02:12 | |
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