Moonlighting
Short Story
I sit at the kitchen table with a book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other—the plastic gingham of the table covering squeaks between my elbows. I am not a smoker, but I figure this would be the perfect time for a cigarette to hang from my bottom lip. It would just hang there, limp, like an earring. If somebody took a photograph, I’d be giving Sartre a run for his money.
I am going to visit the bookshop today, which is always a pleasure. I will carve out an hour two, giving me enough time to take in what is to offer fully. I do have to meet Emilie after lunch; she wants to go over some of her new ideas and have a general catch up. I usually see her once a week, but these past few have been so overwhelming that I haven’t had the mental energy.
Despite the hot weather, I shall wear my woolly jumper and black culottes. It only fits for me to give myself heatstroke after all. Now, I know that we do not know each other, but I hope you can glean a semblance of my personality through this rambling. At this point, I am just a page filled with meaningless words. However, I should like to inform you that this is a puzzle; you can put the pieces together.
Emilie has texted me a nudge in the form of expletives that I do not wish to repeat. Ever the impatient one, Emilie turns up to these meetings dreadfully early, yet she…
