A boring ditty

Small clouds swirled around the top of the coffee. Not real clouds, of course, but small steamy collections of fluffy milk. Real clouds would ruin coffee, you fool. Actually, the milk was too steamy, burning my tongue as I rose the beveridge to my quivering lips.

 Opposite me, at another table, a man drank a similar beveridge. Could have been tea, maybe not. He was tall, majestic, probably Aztec. I hoped he wasn't Cinteotl, the god of Maize. I'd done some bad things to maize over the years, and I doubt he'd take to kindly to them.


 I watched the man for a while, out of the corner of my eye, but he didn't appear to be a maize-concerned deity. After a while, I got up and went home. You probably feel I've waisted your time here. You'd be right, so go outside and play in the sunshine children.

Something about coffee. I was in a coffeeshop

And, to be honest, it seemed kind of boring. I hadn't seen Max for a few days, he'd said something about "wanting to see other blogs", whatever that meant. So I'd gone out for coffee. Don't get me wrong, of course, it was nice to get up in the morning and live without fear. For instance, I could shower without the fear of Max - desiring efficiency - having electrified the shower. I looked around the coffee shop, noticing for the first time the rows of fish tanks that filled the back wall. Finishing my coffee, I went for a closer look.
 The tanks, varying in size and shape, were all full of typical fish decorations, little divers and gold chests and castles and the like. Full of water, air filters filtered away, little pebbles covered the bottom. But no fish. That was the interesting thing. Intrigued by this obvious flaw in an otherwise flawless display of the life aquatic, I enquired about the fishlessness of the young coffee-server.
 Nearby, a newspaper obscured the features of an onlooker. As I enquired about fish, please imagine the camera panning to him. On the word, "fish" the newspaper is quickly pulled down so the onlistener can listen better (As it is commonly known that newspapers impair hearing).
 Unseen by me however, the mysterious stranger followed me out. Disappointed that no-one could tell me where the fish were, I planned to go home. I take fish based disappointments hard. At least, I thought I did. But, compared to some people, they bothered me no more than the genocide of strangers bothers people who can't see it.
 Following me into a nearby alley, the stranger quickly covered the distance between us.
 "So," He called out, "Coming into the cafe like you're the big fish around here, aren't we?"
 I paused. I wasn't sure if that was a rhetorical question or not. I wasn't even sure what he meant.
 "Wanting to make a big splash, weren't we?" He enquired further.
 Clearly, he wanted an answer. Furthermore, I assumed he was one of those people who used "we" as an impersonal pronoun when addressing someone else. Or maybe not, I'm not entirely sure I remember what a personal pronoun is properly. But you get the idea. He certainly didn't mean "we" in the sense I would use it anyway. I certainly had no intention of going 'round, making splashes with this man.
 He had picked me up now, gripping my collar with two Popeye-sized fists and holding me to the wall.
 I decided to reply. Cliches seemed appropriate:
 "I have no idea what you're talking about!" I replied. Well, kinda squealed. In a manly way, of course.
 "Really? So I suppose we just 'happened' to wonder where the fish were, while we were enjoying our morning coffee. Perhaps we have nothing to do the biggest fish kidnap this century!"
 He looked rather smug now, as if he'd made and proved a point at me. Well, maybe he had. I still didn't really know what was happening. I struggled on, speaking as articulately as possible, in the form of cliched, made-for-TV dialogues:
 "So, you're saying someone kidnapped the fish. I'm innocent. Innocent, I tells you!"
 "Hmm, maybe so. We don't look like the fish-kidnapping sort, do we? We look more like a wet fish!"
His use of 'we' was getting annoying now, as was his use of fish-related phrases. But he was a big guy, so I tried to keep him calm.
 "Who are you anyway?" I asked.
 "Isn't it obvious?" He replied. "I'm the marine biologist."
I paused, taking a look at the bulging muscles on the man, the crew-cut, the tank-top.
 "When you say 'marine biologist'?..." I hesitantly asked.
 "Well..." He replied. "I'm a biologist. I'm also in the marines."
Yes. It was pretty obvious now he pointed it out. Of course, I could have taken him down there and then. You know, if he fell and concussed himself, I could have taken him no problem. Instead, I decided to spare him and play along. He sent me home. He told me he'd be in touch soon. Someone had to deliver the ransom, then he'd get the puffer fish, he said. I think 'puffer fish' was an insulting term for the kidnappers, but I don't really know. I went home.
 I miss Max.

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.

I took another sip of coffee. It was somewhat hotter than before, burning my tongue.
"Hmm?" Max asked.
"I said 'ouch'" I offered back, "Anyway, what's with that medallion?"
The medallion in question was a large gold affair hanging around Max's neck.
"Oh, this old thing? It's an ancient Red Indian thing, apparently. I picked it up last year, when I went on my trip."
As far as I could remember, Max had only gone to Wales, but I didn't bother to point this out. I also resisted the temptation to point out they were Native Americans as well, I'd had enough trouble explaining what he could and couldn't call midgets last Spring. I did ask this, however:
"Oh... Is it real? Or from a gift shop?"
"Nah. I dug it up, from an ancient Indian burial ground. There was a curse, apparently..."
I looked up at the darkening skies around us. I've got to stop going for coffee with Max. It always ends up with us being chased by vengeful spirits of some kind.

Coffee and Prejudice.

Having found an empty table, I sat down and took a sip of coffee. On reflection, I didn't like coffee, and had no idea why I'd ordered it. But, I had paid, so I'd damn well finish it.
As I reached this revelation, I also noticed a couple enter the coffee shop and sit near the window. They caught my attention primarily because they were dressed in 18th or 19th century periodic clothing. The pair looked slightly agitated, checking their watches - concealed in their costumes - and looking around, at the door and the nearby street. Therefore, I assumed they were waiting for someone. Presently, the man turned with a sigh, and said to the woman:
"Right, he's late. Let's just get on with it."
Settling back, I prepared to see what exactly it was...

"My dear Mr. Bennet," said the lady to him suddenly, "have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?"
'Mr. Bennet' jumped, seemingly startled by the dialogue. Composing himself, he replied that he had not.
"But it is," returned she; "for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it."
'Mr. Bennet' made no answer.
"Do you not want to know who has taken it?" cried his 'wife' impatiently.
"You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it."
Suddenly, a man rushed into the shop. He was obviously flustered, and somewhat nervous. Running his hand through his hair, then down his face to a small goatee, he approached the table.
" Sorry. Sorry, sorry sorry." He offered, spreading his hands out widely, "So sorry..."
Then, in a booming voice, he continued;
"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man..."
"Colin..." The man seated interrupted, "We've started. Do try to keep up. You're not voicing Mr. Men anymore."

I watched them continue for a few more minutes, but started to feel awkward. Most of the other customers had started to slowly slip out the door, offering polite smiles to the thespians as they passed by. Deciding I couldn't finish the coffee after all, I threw it over Colin, along with the remains of a muffin.
Later, the police arrested me. They got the wrong man, if you ask me. If anything, I was the injured party.

"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.