How many...

[leviathin]

It’s Monday and the sky is blue. I leave the crowded sidewalk, filled with blank empty faces and enter into the diner. I stand at the entrance stupidly, not knowing whether I should seat myself or wait for the non existent hostess. I glance around the diner taking in its 1972 décor, which in fact was not done intentionally, it has just never been updated since it’s grand opening 30 some years ago. “Just yourself sir?” I look and notice a heavy set man in his late 50’s staring at me with a smile, standing next to the rack that holds the menu’s, waiting for my response. He’s dressed in a clean pressed white shirt with a red paisley tie, black slacks, also pressed, and white addida cross trainers with black stripes. I take him to be the owner as his name tag says so with “Tom” printed in Times New Roman right underneath his title. “No” I say “Someone will be joining me.” “Very good sir, right this way.” He seats me at a booth, tells me about the specials and that my waitress, Martha, will be right with me. He walks off quickly to attend to the young yuppie couple that just walked in, dressed smartly in power business suits and from the looks of it, very much in love. Some couples just can’t hide it. Tom ran off before I could ask for some coffee and I’m half tempted to stop him when he passes back by, walking the couple to their table. As they pass I hear the woman ask the man what he has on his docket that afternoon. Fucking lawyers, I should have known from the clothes. The only thing worse than waiting for an inept waitress to refill your coffee is waiting for anyone to bring you your first cup. I take the upside down coffee cup with the blue stripe around the top, off of its matching saucer and place it upright at the very edge of the table. It’s the international sign that means “Bring me some fucking coffee” It should be the first thing taught at every waitress college in the world. As I impatiently wait for Martha, numerous waitresses, bus boys and even good old Tom pass my table oblivious to my cup that is so dangerously close to the edge of the table it is virtually teetering on the brink of falling down to the surprisingly clean 1972 linoleum floor and shattering. The waitresses pass by so quick I can’t catch the names on their name tags, none of them look like a Martha anyway. I do notice that everyone, including the bus boys are wearing the same white addida cross trainers with the black stripes that Tom is wearing. I personally would rather see them wearing black ones with white stripes, but that’s just me and for a momement my ‘lack of coffee induced agitation’ is quelled by this pondering. Finally. “Hello, I’m Martha (she points to her name tag as she says this as if I needed the reassurance of the name tag to totally believe her, either that or she thinks I’m deaf)” She repeats the specials that Tom spoke of and I can’t help to wonder why her name isn’t Marta when she is very obviously of Hispanic descent. “Just coffee for now Martha, I’ll order when my friend arrives.” She nods and smiles and leaves to hopefully fetch the coffee. I know now that it’s going to take every fiber of my existence to not call her Marta. It’s like the time I was in this small, crowded café in Vienna years ago with a group of friends and we had an American waitress with a southern accent of all things, in fucking Vienna. I had to fight back the urge to call her Flo, A joke that to this day, I will never know the out of. I picture myself saying it and everyone in the crowded café laughing their heads off. Martha returns, post-haste with the coffee and fills it disturbingly close to the rim. I thank her and she idles off with coffee pot in hand looking for cups teetering near the edges of tables. I look at my cup, happy to have coffee and pissed that there is no way I lift this cup to my mouth without spilling it. Not that I would, but I couldn’t put cream or sugar in it if I wanted to. I use the little stir straw to sip some off the top and then comfortably sip my coffee as I wait for my friend. Friend. I’ve never even met the guy before, I don’t even know his real name. I look over at the people seated at the counter. Two older asian gentlemen are talking about an article in the paper about that bastard in North Korea. They are talking about the importance China has of keeping peace in the region. The guy next to them is on his cell phone asking the person on the other end if he can speak to someone named Vic, the woman two seats over from him is looking at a flyer that was handed to her outside the diner, it has the picture of a woman with the words MISSING above it. I threw mine away as soon as it was handed to me. I imagine this missing girl showing up all of the sudden at her family’s house and saying “Nowhere” when they ask where the hell she’s been. Well, I hope they find her none the less. The two Asians men are now talking about past rulers of China and I can’t help but thinking about one such ruler’s poor widow and three others that were thought to be conspirators in his death, and the Cultural Revolution they dreamt of, and the song “I found the Essence Rare”. A shadow looms over my table from behind, and I hear “Come here often?” I turn, and see my pseudo friend. “Yes” I say “They have great strudel”. He laughs and says “Is that so” as he takes a seat. He’s exactly the way I pictured him. Big guy, bald, kind of intimidating but his friends probably refer to him as a big teddy bear type, maybe I’m wrong. He’s wearing a long sleeve, pale green, button-up, collard shirt, which is not buttoned up revealing a T.S.O.L. t-shirt underneath. I once owned the same shirt but grew out of it many years ago. To my surprise and chagrin he’s wearing black Addida high-tops with white stripes. He’s carrying a green back pack with different buttons and patches sewed on depicting many long lost punk bands. Upon further inspection I notice his backpack is actually an American GI ruck sack from the Second World War with the letter’s OS stenciled onto it in black letters. He notices me staring at his cool ass bag. I nod at it and ask “You got something in there for me”. He looks around the diner and moves his upside down coffee cup, upright to the edge of the table. “Yeah, let’s get something to eat first.” He opens the menu completely covering his face. I don’t need to look at the menu, I noticed some caramel swirled, apple muffins in the pastry case when I walked in, they’ll go good with the coffee. Martha shows up and takes our order and our menus. We sit there for what seems like hours. He goes on and on about all the great clubs near by and all the great bands that emerged from them. I get a complete history lesson on the 70’s New York Punk scene. I wonder why this guy doesn’t write a book or something. “So, you know?” He asks “I could have just mailed this to you.” I look across the table and say “Well, I didn’t hear any complaints when I offered you a free trip to New York, did I?” I look up in time to see Martha and the muffins. “Here you are sir, two caramel apple muffins. I heated them up for you, is that alright?” she asks “perfect, thank you.” She leaves to get my friends order, a stack of French toast, three eggs over easy, 4 slices of bacon and sourdough toast. I turn my attention back to our conversation as I pull the top off of one of my muffins. “I’m just glad you decided to sell me the item. It just seemed appropriate that the deal take place here in the city.” Our waitress shows up with his order. The french toast is extremely golden brown and I’m sorry now I didn’t order a full meal. Before she leaves she asks if we need anything else and my friend looks at me then at her and smiles as he says “No thanks Marta, we’re good.” We both sit quietly as we eat our food, I finish my meal before he is half way through his. I drink the last of my coffee and wipe my mouth off. “Well, I guess I should get going. I take it you saw the money was wired to your account.” He finishes chewing what’s in his mouth and say’s “Yeah, I guess this belongs to you now.” He puts the cool ass bag on the table and slides it across to me. I open it up and look at its contents. Beautiful, I think to myself, absolutely beautiful. He sees my approval and says “Take care of it man, don’t… well, just be careful with it. I start to take it out of the bag and he stops me and says “Keep it, it’s the bag I had with me when I found it.” I stand there happy as hell that I get the cool ass bag as well.” I sling the bag over my shoulder and throw down a fifty onto the table, “That should cover the meal and the tip. Marta was pretty good at that.” He takes another bite of his eggs nodding his head in approval. I thank him again and turn towards the door but before I take another step I turn back and ask “So? Why the hell do they call you Ollie Stench anyways?” He looks up at me still chewing his food, swallows and says “I’m not sure. Why the fuck aren’t you at work.”

[manekineko]

Great read! But what was in the bag? Must have been pretty awesome to warrant a free trip to NYC!

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[coop41]

Why would Ollie sell his collection of rare punk 45's??

[coop41]

By the way, well done.

[i_like_lectric_motors]

Not bad.

Remember ... proofreading and paragraphs are our friends.

Manek - it's Ollie's soul in the bag. [:)]

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Results:
Too much damage done. Go away. [78%] 63 votes
Yah! Kimiiii is back! Hip hip hooray! [22%] 18 votes

[Otters Walk Among Us]

I'm amazed anyone was actually able to read that.

Motors is correct, paragraphs are your friend, especially on the internets. I couldn't get past about 7 lines.

[eight6]

[quote][i]Originally posted by Otters Walk Among Us[/i]
<br>I'm amazed anyone was actually able to read that.

Motors is correct, paragraphs are your friend, especially on the internets. I couldn't get past about 7 lines.
[/quote]

LOL, you outdid me. I have a rule: if a post occupies my whole screen, I pass on reading it, esp. if it is a block of text.

The next 2 or 3 posts in the thread will give me the necessary info.



<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v647/dbince/eight.gif"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v647/dbince/number6.gif">

I was smellin' alright, and lookin' alright.

[djcraig]

[quote][i]Originally posted by Otters Walk Among Us[/i]
<br>I'm amazed anyone was actually able to read that.

Motors is correct, paragraphs are your friend, especially on the internets. I couldn't get past about 7 lines.
[/quote]

Agreed.

Feel free to mix in a (br)-" line break" every so often.

<a href= http://

<a href="http://www.djcraig.net/">DJ Craig</a>

[leviathin]

I am sorry about that. I copy and pasted from Word and lost all the formating.