“She walked into the room like an add-shot double-whip latte,” Sam said.
The sax player paused. “What does that even mean?”
Midday Matinee is our people watching, people doing and people being feature. Join the Woodland Creatures for an afternoon break.
Welcome back to Tuesday’s Tale, a weekly feature where we collaborate to write a story. Previous Tuesday’s Tales include eShrink and Sy Atica. We follow the basic rules of the “Yes, And” improvisational game – accept everything written so far as part of the story, and add your own paragraph (or so) where the last addition left off – except you needn’t begin your addition with “Yes, and.” I’ll start the story….
Editor’s Note: Click here for the sax player.
“It means she looked rich … and smooth,” Sam replied. “Also, you’re the background music, not a character.”
The sax player sighed and returned to his bluesy, minor-key riff.
“Her skin was the color of perfect espresso foam,” Sam continued, “her hair as dark and shimmery as mocha syrup. Her eyes sparkled like twice-infused Chai tea.”
“I’ll have a Venti banana-mint soy frappe,” the woman said. She cast a quick glance at Sam and looked back at the barista. “So, is that him? Guy with the saxophonist behind his table?”
The barista nodded. “He’s the one.”
“He looked like a mug that’d been dropped in the grounds,” the woman said.
“Huh?” the barista asked.
“Not well cared-for, but still useful,” the woman explained. “And hush. This is my inner dialogue.”
“Here’s your frappe,” the barista said. She looked at the sax player. “She took the cup and walked over to him like a two-day-old decaf single-shot half-and-half.”
“Spoiled?” the sax player asked.
The barista nodded. “And not worth it even when she was fresh.”
The woman looked at Sam. “They’re like those plastic stirring sticks.”
“The kind that just get in the way,” Sam agreed, “but you have to put them on a napkin or they drip.”
The sax player wiped his lip and resumed his mournful melody.
“So I’m here because … it’s my husband,” the woman said. “He’s like a fresh blueberry muffin with melted butter.”
“Sweet, hot, and oh-so-satisfying?” Sam asked.
The woman tipped her head toward the empty pastry display. “Missing.”
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