"Small" writing challenges for my small writing talent. Hotel note pads are the only space allowed. Let's see if I can strip it down and tighten it up to learn something. Improving my skill of weird fiction.
Smoldering brass casings pinged off marble floor tile in iambic pentameter. Anyone not covering their ears in a panic heard three-quarter time shouting.
“No Lah-Tays’!” screamed the man.
More empty brass fell in rythm.
A trail of evidence followed the man, soon to be photographed with small numberes signs placed on the floor.
“No Mo-ho-ho-Kaz!” he shouted like Demon-Santa.
Not a soul stood before he put his weapon away, leaned forward against the counter, and politely said, in even breaths, through his red mist, “One. Small. Coffee. Please.”
A quick and delightful jingle of keys in much faster 9/8 time from a security guard, an ex-All-American who was not selected for marching band, who delivered an oxygen depriving spear tackle – into the refrigerated bottled smoothie and yogurt parfait display.
(Author’s notes) January 20th, 2016: New Orleans, LA
It’s a different life, finding decent coffee at an airport. In your neighborhood coffee shop, everyone gets their morning usual on the way to work. In an airport, everyone is on vacation and eats plus drinks accordingly. Do we see a line for coffee? I can safely say ninety-percent are getting some sort of coffee milk-shake-syrup-flavored giant thing. It’s six in the morning behind a line of yoga pantsed individuals. How often do you only want your usual?