Gregor von Qualen (wantyougone) wrote in at_the_gates, @ 2010-12-22 13:49:00 |
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Current mood: | irritated |
Entry tags: | loki hughes |
This life is filled with hurt when happiness doesn't work.
Who: Loki Hughes (wantyougone); [Narrative]
What: Give a little, take everything - or nothing at all in this unfortunate case.
Where: Confiserie Sprüngli, Zurich, Switzerland
When: Wednesday (22 Dec 2010)
Warnings: Language
At a table near the entrance, facing the entrance, sat a young man who appeared to be part of the daily banker traffic that rushed in and out, snatching something for breakfast or maybe a small slice of heavenly pastry for their afternoon coffee break. On his table: a small basket filled with fresh bread slices, butter and jam, a small plate with scrambled eggs, a glass of orange juice, a cup of coffee. On the plate in front of him: a slice of dark walnut bread, buttered, half-eaten. There was nothing that made him stand out. He shouldn't have stood out. He didn't stand out. Perhaps he was a little bit too calm, but the lack of movement in that part of the cafe was neatly covered up by the other patrons - busy as bees, creating a buzz not unlike one might encounter in a beehive.
There was a key in his shirt pocket. Not the one he'd taken from Mr Shaw, but the one he'd found when the vault Mr Shaw had access to was opened, and which led him here to an empty deposit box. Games. Someone was trying to play games with Loki, and while he was generally not averse to the idea, he wasn't particularly amused by this one, because playing silly buggers on Loki's time wasn't part of the deal. Somebody was obviously not aware of that.
Somebody thought they had all the aces, but suddenly, three weeks, ten different faces and two on-the-wrong-end-but-that's-business-fuc
He took another bite from his slice of bread - the aroma was amazing - and spoiled the taste with a sip of orange juice. The client was probably laughing. Hughes hoped for the client's sake that they were laughing and that they were doing it heartily. He hoped they were happy.
See, I know where you live and work and play. I know where your wife gets her nails and hair done, where your children go to school, have their piano and dancing lessons. I know that your blonde city snack isn't so happy about how little time you've had for her and that the brunette is starting to get worried because she's three weeks over. I know everything about you, you stupid cunt, and you think you can fuck with me.
Because, these days, being happy was so fucking hard.