The Owl: A Microfiction Thriller, Chapter 1
Introducing Mister C.
He hates sitting with his back to the door. He learned this lesson the hard way.
A man of habit, he sits at the same booth every morning, gazing out the window.
Maureen walks up to greet him with a smile, as she always does.
“Morning, Mister C.”
“Morning, Maureen. How was your weekend?”
“Eh, you know, there’s no rest for the wicked.”
“I hear you.”
“Your croissant is on its way.”
“Thank you, dear. Can I get an orange juice, please?”
“Coming right up!”
Croissants and orange juice remind him of his childhood, of home.
He looks around, loves people-watching.
It’s his favorite activity after football and reading about philosophy.
He’s not a talker, nor is he a writer.
He’s a planner who likes to keep to himself.
Attention is bad for business.
Not that he could avoid it.
Walking around with an Afro, aviator glasses, and a trench coat will get you noticed anywhere.
