While drinking lots of coffee I finished a short story today. Here's a snippet.
"...I
slide the plate onto the paper place mat I doodled on. I sit back and take my
eyes off Brenda. The rest of the room comes back into focus. The diner's
patrons huddle in the corner next to the counter. The old couple, leathery. The
fry cook with Seattle Sonics gold and green, and the night watchmen, now
standing so close together, as to be one. The hippies’goddamn-cinnamon-pachouli-stink.
And Brenda.
"You want me to tell you?"
Brenda
nods, slowly. With each nod and whisper Brenda becomes more real to me. The
faded blue eyes, faded blonde hair, worked-to-death blue jeans, faded. I could
see she was real, no need to test her.