Member-only story
The Authentic Eclectic
The Second Level
The bleary misery of rising at dawn. Grey owl moon slipping away. She traced the lines in her palm, trying to remember which were heart, head, and life.
When such things turn out accurate, we alieve them to be true; she rather cherished that instinctual spiritualism, so at odds with her conscious thoughts. She imagined it as a sprite dancing about the depths of her mind, causing mischief.
The bus turned into the forest. She pushed down the window in hopes that the rush of fresh air would wake her up. There was commotion in the brush, and the flash of a deer’s tail. The speeding bus tore a terrific wake.
She watched the zoetropic scenery for a moment, then shook her head, yawned, and walked down to the third level for breakfast. There were a couple of tourists in the cafe seating area. She ignored them and went up to the counter.
“Morning Harold,” she said to the back of a very large man.
He turned around, smile ready. “Morning Tansy. What’s your fancy? Waffles? Chapattis? Banchan? Mandazi?”
“A cup of coffee and a cucumber sandwich, please.”
“On it.” He opened the refrigerator, and she covered her eyes with her arm to shield them from its intense glow. She heard him placing the objects on the counter…
