I watched the young couple near me. Well, they were leaning across the table, smiling, touching hands occasionally, smiling more, mocking passing tramps, so I assumed they were a couple. I'm not a stalker, I was just killing time while I waited for something, some kind of literally techniques, I suppose. As I said, they were at the table, talking in low, hushed voices. Knowing my luck, I imagined they were having a Tarantino-style conversation, so the romance would probably turn to some sort of violence directed at me. I slipped my hand into my jacket, searching for the reassuring weight of my hand-cannon. (Literally, a tiny cannon. For many years, I'd misunderstood the Dirty Harry films.) Damn! Of course, I remembered then: I'd lent it to my friend George for his Museum of Mouse Warfare. I wasn't too worried though, I'd seen a lot of films about kung-fu, karate and Krakens, so I could handle myself.
A few minutes passed, then an hour. The couple had ordered another coffee, finished it, and were still talking. I was watching them like a hawk, perched on the back of my chair. Obviously, they were eying the place up for some sort of illegal high-jinx - glancing around the room, looking at me with a nervous expression. But I was wise to them, returning their gaze intently. They paid the cheque, and escaped the room with a worried look on their faces. Obviously, they met their match in me.
After I was sure they'd left, I spread my wings and flew back to my chair. I ordered a muffin, then robbed the joint. It's been a productive day.
2 comments:
I cracked up at the image of you as the hawk. And the dirty harry joke. You spelled cheque wrong.
Not any more!... Do people even use cheques anymore? I thought the image of someone reaching into their coat for one was more suitable.
Thanks!
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