Procaffeinations #8

 

Procaffeinations is a weekly series of short fictions, fables and fabrications, all written in the time it takes to finish that first coffee of the day.  A Moka-brewed espresso with a Rye bump.  Starting strong.

‘Oh, give me some time, let me learn how to speak.’

The first attempt is harmless enough; a clumsy, incompetent mess that trips over tonsils and tongue alike. It’s dashed to pieces against his teeth before ever leaving his mouth. An eveningsworth of cocktails (over-priced and over-proofed) have given his words a charmless, whiskey’d waywardness. The second shot comes out swinging. A real bull in a china shop, this one. It dances around the crowded bar-top in a frenzied fever; spilling drinks, opening old wounds and making new enemies. The third and final attempt is a three-car pile-up, a senseless, whirring disaster of slurred words that scream and buckle and grind into and over each other.  Fearing further verbal violence, she puts a finger to his lips and begs for silence.

‘If you don’t hurry up and spit it out,’ she whispers, ‘you’re going to bring down the whole bar.’

The moment missed through meaningless metaphor, he finishes his drink and shuts his stupid mouth.  He’ll have to wait until morning to tell her he loves her.

 

 

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