Bill glanced at his Rolex as he entered the coffee shop; he was in a rush to get to the office as usual. The tables were crowded with customers, but the line was not too long this morning, about five people. He would be pushing his luck, but he dreaded facing a day of client interviews and meetings without his morning latte. He took his place at the end of the line.
She was there again, two customers ahead of him. Recognizing her gave Bill a pang of annoyance. On Monday they had had an altercation. He had been running particularly late that morning, and had shouldered to the head of the line. The others on line didn’t make a peep, but she had turned out to be pretty feisty. First she had scolded him for his bad manners. When he had tried to give her the brush off (“Look, lady, I’m in a rush….”) instead of clamming up she had gotten angry. What had she called him? A boor? A jackass? Anyway, it had been a lot of trouble to get a freaking latte. Read more…
Kevin paused in front of the oaken door that graced the graceful abode of Mistress Marquesa, the hypnotic witch, and went through the chain of events that brought him here.
