Innuendo
New Member
May 2019, 8:42 AM
London, England
Muddy fingers curls over the top of the red polished steel mailbox on the corner of 13th and Carnaby Street as a young girl makes and ill attempt to conceal herself while peering across the busy street, smacking her moist lips as she breaths deep the sweet aroma emanating from the small bakeshop she canvasses longingly each morning. Painted above the establishment in large bold lettering reads Jaime’s Rolls, with a cleverly inserted image of a roll in the place of an ‘O’ in Rolls. The glass door to the bakery constantly swinging open and closed with a steady stream of patrons, a whimsical dinging chime playing each time the door opens.
“Gentleman Ghost at it again! Get your paper ‘ere!”
The haggard booming voice of the elderly man at the adjacent post stand causes a well-dressed woman walking nearby to jump in shock, rattling the moss colored stroller she was struggling to push, thankfully not waking her babe sound asleep within. Continuing to shout his propaganda at all those who met his gaze, the frail senior labored to take a seat on his aged wooden stool. His newsstand was clearly a relic of the past, its wooden framework warped and rotting from exposure to the elements over the decades. Though the stand itself left much to be desired, his display was meticulously maintained, each paper and magazine aligned deliberately in relation to the ones adjacent. Taking a moments reprieve, the news merchant took a long drink of black coffee from his paper cup, also bearing the text Jamie’s Rolls. Swishing the hot liquid around in his mouth, he scrunched his nose as if judging the beverage inadequate, his long unkempt nose hairs and wrinkled face only adding to his disapproving expression. Upon finishing off the last few drops of coffee that remained he rests his elbows on the tattered and stained denim covering his knees, then hears a quiet popping sound, followed by the clinking of coins. Curiously turning to inspect the display, the man discovers that a newspaper was missing from the array of publications,
“Hey! Those cost–” the kiosk operator shouted at no one in particular before abruptly stopping himself.
Coins clanged once more as he rose from his stool as swiftly as his aged frame would allow, this time however the source of the sound was much more evident, the cup. Hesitantly, and in bewildered anticipation the pensioner turned the mug over, spilling an assortment of coinage into the palm of his hand.
“–well I’ll be damned.” He concluded.
Casually surveying the street momentarily for whomever might have been so quick to abscond with the tabloid, the elder quickly pockets the coinage before turning his attention to straightening his now unacceptable stall. All the while just out of view, a crisp newspaper is opened by a tall man in a long dark coat rounding the corner of Carnaby Street, disappearing from view.
London, England
Muddy fingers curls over the top of the red polished steel mailbox on the corner of 13th and Carnaby Street as a young girl makes and ill attempt to conceal herself while peering across the busy street, smacking her moist lips as she breaths deep the sweet aroma emanating from the small bakeshop she canvasses longingly each morning. Painted above the establishment in large bold lettering reads Jaime’s Rolls, with a cleverly inserted image of a roll in the place of an ‘O’ in Rolls. The glass door to the bakery constantly swinging open and closed with a steady stream of patrons, a whimsical dinging chime playing each time the door opens.
“Gentleman Ghost at it again! Get your paper ‘ere!”
The haggard booming voice of the elderly man at the adjacent post stand causes a well-dressed woman walking nearby to jump in shock, rattling the moss colored stroller she was struggling to push, thankfully not waking her babe sound asleep within. Continuing to shout his propaganda at all those who met his gaze, the frail senior labored to take a seat on his aged wooden stool. His newsstand was clearly a relic of the past, its wooden framework warped and rotting from exposure to the elements over the decades. Though the stand itself left much to be desired, his display was meticulously maintained, each paper and magazine aligned deliberately in relation to the ones adjacent. Taking a moments reprieve, the news merchant took a long drink of black coffee from his paper cup, also bearing the text Jamie’s Rolls. Swishing the hot liquid around in his mouth, he scrunched his nose as if judging the beverage inadequate, his long unkempt nose hairs and wrinkled face only adding to his disapproving expression. Upon finishing off the last few drops of coffee that remained he rests his elbows on the tattered and stained denim covering his knees, then hears a quiet popping sound, followed by the clinking of coins. Curiously turning to inspect the display, the man discovers that a newspaper was missing from the array of publications,
“Hey! Those cost–” the kiosk operator shouted at no one in particular before abruptly stopping himself.
Coins clanged once more as he rose from his stool as swiftly as his aged frame would allow, this time however the source of the sound was much more evident, the cup. Hesitantly, and in bewildered anticipation the pensioner turned the mug over, spilling an assortment of coinage into the palm of his hand.
“–well I’ll be damned.” He concluded.
Casually surveying the street momentarily for whomever might have been so quick to abscond with the tabloid, the elder quickly pockets the coinage before turning his attention to straightening his now unacceptable stall. All the while just out of view, a crisp newspaper is opened by a tall man in a long dark coat rounding the corner of Carnaby Street, disappearing from view.
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