Beginning of a Short Story

Cafe Two Times Bright


John was sitting at his table at the café trying desperately to hear the conversation between the two girls at the table behind him even though he was supposed to be concentrating on his translation. One of the girls was this classic radiant Russian blonde, the kind with pale skin and mysteriously dark eyes who would fade when she hit twenty-five or twenty-six but for now she was young and was wearing this black turtleneck that beautifully cupped her c-cup breasts. The other was a redhead with a tan, and had a short, funky haircut, and squarish, funky glasses. The blonde likes the redhead because she knows how to improvise and have a good time, and she introduces her to new music and different kind of guys who wear leather and know where Bristol is, John decided. The red-head likes the blonde because she elevates her league, and all kinds of businessmen buy the pair of them drinks at expensive bars and she can always have a fun time of it and order the expensive snacks and not have to pay for her cab.

Besides inventing backstories for the two girls, John was writing the subtitles for a Russian TV show he had never heard of. And while he was supposed to have it in that night, and he was pretty sure it was one of those real deadlines, he couldn’t help himself thinking that the redhead was the just the kind of funky girl who might start up a conversation with an interesting-looking foreigner in a café. So this was really the reason why he was leaning a little back in the creaky wooden and wicker chair, trying to exert a mysteriously-intense expression on his face and half-turning it towards the girls. This was also why he eventually decided to go up to the counter and get some more coffee and maybe a salad: by the time he returned, he figured, maybe the two of them would be gone and he could finally focus on his work. Or maybe they would be impressed by his athletic build and follow him up to the counter.