I would like to formally apologize that I do not make blog updates every day, to you, Phil Smith, and only you. I did not realize your hardcore dedication to my spoken word. I only prefer to write when I have something witty or interesting to say. Do give you something to do, I am going to post a sample of what I am currently working on, which is going to be part of my short story for the short story contest. Let me know what you think.
There is a table sitting in the corner of the restaurant, perpetually in solitude. Nobody notices it, not even the servers. At it sits a sad little man, not much taller than your average 12-year-old. Davis Coltrain has been coming to Andrew's Place for six years now—ever since it opened—yet not a single person knows his name. When, after twenty minutes, one of the younger waitresses makes her way over, he finally gets to order the exact same thing he always orders. Steak sandwich with a side of rice, the soup of the day to start. The waitress will fake a smile, take his order, the return to the other waitresses. They think he can't hear them making fun of his horrid smell, dirty clothes, and greasy hair: he can. He eats his overcooked meal in silence, leaves a twenty on the table, and quietly leaves, like he was never there at all.
No comments:
Post a Comment