Monday, October 18, 2010

291. The stool


He had been at the bar all afternoon, and now the twilight was coming down. He did not appear to be drunk, melancholy yes. He had said little, other than to order his next drink. Red wine – a shiraz from the Coonawarra. He liked potato crisps, Salt and vinegar crisps. Mostly he just rocked back on a leg of his bar stool, tapping a coaster in his left hand. Contemplative.

Every so often, he would glance sideways to catch the big screen in the corner. A match between Manchester United and Aston-Villa. From his reaction, one could hardly say the outcome mattered to him. He paid scant attention to the barmaid, other than to grunt out his order. He did not spare as much as a glance to the woman on his right, eating fillet mignon with salad and fries.

Poking out of his breast pocket was a hand-written letter.

7 comments:

Brian Miller said...

ooo...what is on the letter...this is a great story starter...

Amanda said...

salt and vinegar crisps. filet with salad and fries. i'm hungry and want to know more.......

Julie said...

Thank you for your generous feedback. I use these vignettes to give me the courage to go that further step. Not easy ...

Joan Elizabeth said...

Yes, I like this man and his problem. Glad we got that little bit at the end to indicate what was taxing his mind.

Julie said...

I am trying to up the ante, Joan. I am using Riff as a daily exercise, and have now started to write longer pieces on another blog which I enter into a 'competition' on yet another blog (not mine this time!). Both Brian and Amanda are from the writing collective. They are each extremely good at this writing lark.

Joan Elizabeth said...

You are too.

Julie said...

*blush*