Saturday's Storyteller: "Coffee is for men. Tea is for kings."
by Belinda Roddie
COFFEE IS FOR MEN. TEA IS FOR KINGS. That's what the sign outside the tea shop read as I across the street from it, reading a newspaper from two days ago. Inside were a few stragglers, most of them fairly and admittedly weighed down by boxes and bags and kettles. One customer seemed to be quarreling with who must have been the store manager, most likely over the price of a porcelain cup. I didn't pay much attention. I only drank hot chocolate, anyway.
I was sitting away from the tea shop and directly in front of Flannery's Pub because I was expecting to meet a friend in about nine minutes. Most people would have said ten minutes, but my digital watch liked to scream specifics at me, which made me wish I had an analog watch instead, one even without notches in between the five minute slots. Nearby, a bus was idling near the clock tower, waiting for an old man to shuffle up the stairs into a seat. He was fumbling with something in his coat, mumbling as he fished out pennies as dark and rusty as his skin and cursing when we wasn't finding any green or silver. I had half a mind to get up and hand him a dollar before a woman with a pointed nose standing behind the man did it for me. He got on the bus with a bounce in his step.
In the tea shop, the customer had seemed to reach an agreement with the manager, and proceeded to walk outside with several bags hooked around her fingers. Leaving the store after her was someone I recognized, a girl around my age with curls bunched up around her ears and a couple of blatant freckles framing the sides of her nostrils. She wore headphones and seemed to be making a beeline for where I was sitting, and for a moment, I debated getting up. It was at that point, however, that I caught my friend in my periphery, his angular beard appearing to have grown larger and more impressive since I had last seen him three months ago.
"Freddy," I greeted him.
Freddy responded the same way he always did: He wordlessly gave me a hug that threatened to relocate my pancreas next to my sternum. Then he smiled beneath all that facial fur.
"How've you been?"
I shrugged. The girl I had seen earlier was actually heading right for us, without slowing down. I wondered if she knew Freddy, but she brushed by us and straight into Flannery's without a word.
"Not talkative today?"
"Guess not," I confessed. I was definitely distracted. "You up for a drink?"
"I'm here five minutes early. You be the judge."
I grinned and placed a hand on Freddy's back, feeling the rough tweed of his jacket. Across the street, the manager of the tea shop hung up the closed sign. Even kings needed their rest.
This week's prompt was provided by Daniel Bulone.
COFFEE IS FOR MEN. TEA IS FOR KINGS. That's what the sign outside the tea shop read as I across the street from it, reading a newspaper from two days ago. Inside were a few stragglers, most of them fairly and admittedly weighed down by boxes and bags and kettles. One customer seemed to be quarreling with who must have been the store manager, most likely over the price of a porcelain cup. I didn't pay much attention. I only drank hot chocolate, anyway.
I was sitting away from the tea shop and directly in front of Flannery's Pub because I was expecting to meet a friend in about nine minutes. Most people would have said ten minutes, but my digital watch liked to scream specifics at me, which made me wish I had an analog watch instead, one even without notches in between the five minute slots. Nearby, a bus was idling near the clock tower, waiting for an old man to shuffle up the stairs into a seat. He was fumbling with something in his coat, mumbling as he fished out pennies as dark and rusty as his skin and cursing when we wasn't finding any green or silver. I had half a mind to get up and hand him a dollar before a woman with a pointed nose standing behind the man did it for me. He got on the bus with a bounce in his step.
In the tea shop, the customer had seemed to reach an agreement with the manager, and proceeded to walk outside with several bags hooked around her fingers. Leaving the store after her was someone I recognized, a girl around my age with curls bunched up around her ears and a couple of blatant freckles framing the sides of her nostrils. She wore headphones and seemed to be making a beeline for where I was sitting, and for a moment, I debated getting up. It was at that point, however, that I caught my friend in my periphery, his angular beard appearing to have grown larger and more impressive since I had last seen him three months ago.
"Freddy," I greeted him.
Freddy responded the same way he always did: He wordlessly gave me a hug that threatened to relocate my pancreas next to my sternum. Then he smiled beneath all that facial fur.
"How've you been?"
I shrugged. The girl I had seen earlier was actually heading right for us, without slowing down. I wondered if she knew Freddy, but she brushed by us and straight into Flannery's without a word.
"Not talkative today?"
"Guess not," I confessed. I was definitely distracted. "You up for a drink?"
"I'm here five minutes early. You be the judge."
I grinned and placed a hand on Freddy's back, feeling the rough tweed of his jacket. Across the street, the manager of the tea shop hung up the closed sign. Even kings needed their rest.
This week's prompt was provided by Daniel Bulone.
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