Musings from the Bread Cafe -the first.
The guy in the corner ahead of me is gesticulating frantically. It is vitally important the person across from him get his point. There is one problem, the seat is empty. I can’t decide if he is practicing a conversation re-hashing a conversation or completely whacked.
The odds are fairly high, based on how he’s dressed, that the ear away from me has a blue tooth phone accessory in it. I just can’t see it. So to me, he looks a little bit crazy.
There is a rather obnoxious woman drowning out the book club I’d be more interested in eavesdropping in on. All I know is next week they’ll be back to discuss chapter two. They are behind me, so I can’t even sneak a peak at what book they are reading.
I don’t eavesdrop on purpose. After all I’m here to work, not to people watch.
I feel a little S.L.O.W. in that it took me so long to realize I could drop the kids at their weekly sporting practice and come and write. I used to take grading and crocheting to sports practice. Dragging the laptop around, not so easy: I can’t balance it on my knees and write while sitting on bleachers.
I’ve been coming to the Bread Cafe for just about six months now. I haven’t tracked word count yet, but I know I can write a good chunk while here. Mostly I track what types of scenes I’m writing. I have this theory, all writers working in public should either be killing someone, hiding a body in their word count, or writing smexy. Honestly, I haven’t written or edited that many romantic interludes while here.
It’s time to refill my tea and get to work.
This is unedited RAW, straight from whatever project I happen to be typing away on. I definitely have a goal in mind, and this (in some edited form) should see the light of day this time next year.
Glori leaned back in her deck chair and tried to read. A loud attention grabbing laugh did its job, it caught her attention. Cute-but-douchey and his entourage of slimeball friends walked past. She shook her head, why had she thought he was good looking yesterday? The clean hair cut? The broad shoulders? The straight teeth? He was squat and too muscly, he looked like he couldn’t move with any grace, and he was top heavy. Broad thick shoulders and chest muscles hunched over a skinny under-developed abdomen and, stringy legs. Did he not know you should never skip leg day? Glori didn’t work out and even she knew, you never skipped leg day. What had Blaze called him? Jerk-boy. That fit him better. Full of himself, clearly he and his friends all had over-inflated egos. She was just glad she didn’t need to talk to him again. Besides, how could she keep a straight face if she had to speak to him? He wore a yellow speedo, a banana yellow banana hammock.
She snorted at herself, when had she gotten so judgmental on looks? Oh right, when she ended up on a vacation cruise that was clearly more about making appearances than relaxing. Even this morning her mother admitted to having purchased new outfits just for this vacation, right before berating Glori on her choice of outfit. Glori saw nothing wrong with her tank top, a miniskirt, and a men’s dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up worn as a light jacket, and her straw hat.
A group of expensive looking women got out of their deck chairs and sashayed in the same direction of the douche patrol. Glori figured she should lurk behind them, she’d call it observation in the name of anthropology. Yeah, that’s it, say it’s for science, and not morbid curiosity.
She made the appearance of being there for her brother and nephews, but over an hour of sibling neglect and being ignored by the boys since she didn’t swim she felt no guilt getting up and slinking off after the cougar hunt.
She made it to the bar before she chickened out. She couldn’t watch, it was too much like a soap opera, older woman with money, jackass gigolo. She ordered a soda, took her drink and began wandering the decks.
©2016 Lulu M Sylvian