I have a friend with a habit of sending emails with curious subject lines. After receiving about ten of these emails I decided to write a story using his subject lines. Here is the result. Enjoy.
Splendid yet squalid was how she liked to describe the neighborhood. Splendid because she thought she could make a difference here. Squalid because it was brimming with the downtrodden dregs of society. How did the down and out know they were supposed to end up here, she often wondered. Was there a newsletter posted somewhere? Maybe in the bathroom at Crazy Achmed's Ale Emporium? She'd stopped in for a quick cup of coffee to warm her soul before going back out on the streets. It was one of those grungy almost forgotten places where you hope you've stumbled on to a gem. A diamond in the rough that has the best burgers in town or makes a killer napalm sauce. But no. Sadly Achmed's stayed true to the queasy squalor of the rest of the block. The mix of cigarette smoke and grease from the fryer was so thick you needed to swipe the air to see three feet in front of you. “Hey Tom, can I get my usual?” She said as she sat down wondering not for the first time who the hell Achmed was. Tom grunted and started struggling to get up from the stool that groaned almost as much as he did. She suspected the stool was groaning in pleasure having temporarily been freed from the weight of the morbidly obese man. She'd long ago stopped feeling guilty for making Tom rise. It was clear every step he took was painful but she couldn't change that. Stopping in for coffee was sometimes all that kept her going. She had chosen this job just as Tom had chosen his. “Saving souls tonight are you Darcy?” Bud, one of the regulars of Achmed's liked teasing her. She returned his question with a nod and a smile. She liked eavesdropping on the conversations of mixed metaphors the regulars had. It was like someone had taped this conversation years ago and kept replaying it. Tom set the coffee and her three creamers down without a word. “Thanks” she reached for her wallet while Tom grunted and waved his hand. Predictable. He never charged for the coffee and she left a three dollar tip. He'd warned her when she'd first come that what she was trying to do was going to get her into trouble. “You're not going to be welcome here, girl. They'll see you as a badger in the ointment.” Tom was gruff but she suspected he secretly loved what she was doing in his neighborhood. She dumped the cream into the coffee then blew on it to mix it up. Trusting the cleanliness of the mug was one thing. There was a chance she may put her lips on a part of the mug that had never been touched by someone like Bud's but a spoon...all bets were off. She looked fondly at Bud as he continued his loud conversation with his buddies. Poor mostly toothless Bud. She sipped the coffee wondering what his story was. How did he end up here on this barstool. Maybe Bud was from Wall Street and his current situation was a result of cheap chicanery like what befell Dan Akroyd's character in Trading Places? Maybe he was a Russian spy and it was one molotov cocktail too many. Most likely Bud was just beaten up by life, much like the kids in the neighborhood. Bud was almost more tragic to her. Hopefully the kids were impacted by the work she was doing. Maybe a few of them wouldn't end up here in whatever incarnation Achmed's held in the future. She finished the last few drops of coffee and pulled her usual tip out. Bud let out a raucous laugh and she paused then tossed a five on top of that. “Get Bud another beer.” Tom grunted. She took a breath then stepped back out into the cold.
