It takes all kinds...

Early morning gloom blocked up most of the light, but through the shadows I could see two other figures in the bar with me. One, a  large man in a suit far too small for him, was combing his hair obsessively, using the back of a spoon to style it. His breakfast drinking companion, a 5-foot tall Chinese version of Sylvester Stallone, was reading the cocktail menu and tutting in contemplation.

 Time passed as I watched the unlikely pair order something, then settle back to wait. After more of the aforementioned time passed, the suited man turned and caught my eye.

 "We're not together!" He yelled out, panicked.

 I smiled politely. I couldn't care less.

 "And we don't drink this early!" He continued. "It's just that our coffee machine is broken, and raccoons stole our cereal!"

 I continued to smile politely, turning my straw this way and that as I drank my bucket of vodka.

 "We're not homosexuals!" He yelled, determined to make the point.

 I smiled some more. As long as they weren't owl rapists, I didn't bother me.

 Chinese Sly looked up in confusion.

 "I am." He said at length.

 "What? You never said!" Yelled the suited man, evidently scared that he might have caught something from sharing his breakfast with a gay man.

 "I thought this was a date." Chinese Sly mumbled sadly.

 I continued to watch the drama play out in front of me. After a while, the pair left awkwardly. When they were out of sight, I scurried over to their table and began to nibble at the crumbs of food they'd left behind.

 Don't judge me, a bucket of vodka a day is an expensive habit you know. I've got to make savings where I can.

Ok, I've actually gone mad. I have no idea what any of this means.

"You still got that guy stalking you?"

 I sipped gently on my coffee as I contemplated Max's succulent question. 'Yes' I would answer in time, 'yes I have'. But for now, the possibility of giving forth such an answer seemed slim. The coffee was hot, my tongue was burning, and my thoughts were far away.

 My house was still burned down. That's a recap, for those of you who are new here. If you are new here, I'd stop reading now. Go away, play in the sun or something. Eat some grapes. I don't really care. But don't lose your house in a fire. See, we've gone full circle. You're happy now? Good, let's continue.

 "Yes." I answered Max. "Yes he is."

 "Well, I know how you feel. I've got this guy following me, you see. He's very cunning, he's everywhere I go. Well, everywhere with a reflective surface."

 I nodded wisely. Surely, I thought to myself, the joke here wouldn't be that Max had mistaken his reflection for a stalker of some sorts. Surely the readers of this illustrious blog deserve humour more sophisticated than a man being scared of reflection, refraction and reduction. You deserve the works of Sartre, distilled with the finest champagne, served on the back of a moose. Or something of that ilk.

 "Max, are you sure you're not just thinking of your reflection? Because that's not a stalker; it's just science. Which, in general, is actually far scarier." I replied, the memory of failing Higher Physics still ingrained in my psyche.

Herbert Otto Gille. He looks a
bit like Max's new reflection.

 "No." Replied Max. "I thought that at first. But I remember my reflection, and it looks just like me. I've never worn an SS uniform, for one thing."

 I nodded. A few moments passed, then I looked up in the comedic stylings of the man who has just thought about what he's heard.

 "An SS uniform? Like the Waffen-SS? You have a Nazi reflection?"

 "Yea. Now you mention it, that is really weird, isn't it? Look!"

 Max, in a fit of excitement, was pointing at his coffee. For a moment, I caught a glimpse of a uniformed figure making rude hand gestures, then in our excitement, we shook the table and the reflection wobbled away.

 "That's pretty unusual Max, even for you." I offered cautiously.

 "Yea, I mea... Wait, wait! He's back!"

 Max had grabbed a spoon in a further fit of excitement, turning this way and that while yelling.

 "Look, the crafty bugger's upsides-down now!"

 "Ya!" yelled the figure from the spoon, in a particularly reflective German accent. "ve have occupied your spoon!"

 Nearby, a waiter was cleaning up tables diligently. Overhearing Max's spoon, he approached the table with a stern look on his face.

 "We'll have none of that talk here, sir!" He snapped.

 "It isn't my fault!" Max yelled out. "Nazis have occupied my reflection."

 "Look," replied the waiter, "this is a neutral café. We're like Switzerland, except without the Alps. I hate the Alps. Take your little conflict elsewhere."

 "Look," replied Max unoriginally, "We've paid for these coffees, we'll damn well finish them!"

 "And I'll have none of that language! This used to be such a peaceful café, before you came and ruined it! Get out, before I fetch the teapot!"

 "NO!" Yelled a voice from the café. A young woman, dressed in an apron, ran from the establishment. "You promised we would leave the violence behind. You said there would be no more teapots!"

 "I know my love," the waiter replied. "But I cannot stand by. I cannot allow this to go on, not in my own home!"

 For some time now, I had been sidling away. To be more exact, I'd been gently rocking my chair backwards across the terrace and onto the sidewalk. Now, I shuffled backwards into a taxi and set off for home. I didn't know how Nazis had taken over Max's reflection, and I didn't understand what had gone on in that café. All I knew was that I'd sacrificed a perfectly good scone, a brave fighter left behind, a tribute to the Gods of Old, to allow me to escape. And I wouldn't let that sacrifice go unremembered.

The one where I spy on people in a cafe and go insane

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.

"Hey! We should get married!"
I looked at her across the table. Truth be told, I wasn't too keen on the idea. I didn't agree with marriage on principle anyway, and I couldn't really imagine spending my life with her.
"That's a big step."
"Yea, maybe it's too soon. Lets do something though. We never seem to do anything. When I first met you, you seemed so full of life. You came into the cafe like you owned the place, ordered a coffee. Remember, I said it looked like rain, and you said 'I don't care, I've got a hat!'
But now, you just sit around looking bored."
"Look..." I examined her name-badge, "Mary-Lou... I'm sorry, I just came in for a coffee. We barely know each other."
"How can you say that! After all we've been through - remember when I brought you that menu? It meant something to you then."
"I'm sorry... This isn't working."
I continued to apologise politely, but I was starting to panic. Fortunately, I could the manager's eye, and he made my coffee to go. I escaped onto the street, glad to be out of that place. I'd wasted 6 minutes of my life on her, and I wouldn't waste another second.
Looking back though, I know she was right.
It looks like rain.

Coffee and colds

I sneezed again. Bloody cold. In fact, only 5 minutes ago, Max had commented on how pale and deathly - i know - i looked, to which i replied "bloody cold".

Anyway, we continued sipping coffee and generally sitting around the table in the small coffee shop. We seemed deep in thought, and the peace of early morning coffee drinking was only punctuated by my sneezes. As we sat in this gloomy silence, we both took to simultaneously staring out of the window, despondent but with a vague glimmer of hope in our eyes. Our hope was rewarded when a car, appearing from nowhere, mounted the kerb and pulled up sharply in front of the cafe. I noted it was blocking the side alley, despite clear warnings not to, but this didn't seem the time to complain. As we watched, a man jumped from the car, cocking a handgun, and ran into the cafe.

"hey!" exclaimed Max excitedly, "isn't that Ross Kemp?"
The man looked nothing like Ross Kemp, and to be honest, i don't see why Ross Kemp would have to resort to robbing cafes. However, i felt charitable, and replied it could be.

"hands up!" He yelled "The next person to move, or even talk, gets shot!"
To be honest, it wasn't the most impressive speech I'd ever heard, but bless him for trying. I sneezed, sadly.

"Oh!" He exclaimed - he seemed very excitable, "A wise guy, aye? Well, let's see how smart you are now! You're dead buddy!"
He raised the gun and fired at me. Fortunately, i chose that moment to sneeze again, and as my head sank into my hands, the bullet sored over my head and bounced off the wall, hitting him in the leg. With a yell, he dropped down. Alerted to the sound of sirens in the distance, he turned and tried to run out of the cafe. A police car swerved in front of him, and he was quickly restrained.
As he was dragged off, he once again shouted out to me:
"You're a dead man! you're dead... dead!"
"Can we get an autograph?" Max yelled back. I should really talk to him sometime.
"Dead! Dead, dead, dead!" He yelled, again. Not very original, is it?

I would be worried there could be some repercussions, but he seemed pretty certain i was a zombie.
Hopefully my cold will clear up soon.