The Muse

In which Sherlock decides to drink wine instead of coffee

The Cafe was as dark and dim as ever, crowded with smoke, the sound of conversation, and the mellow tune of a saxophone playing in the background. Sherlocked breathed in the heavy scent, intoxicated. He dug into his coat pocket for his cigarettes, and proceeded to light it with an old cigarette lighter stuck in his pants pocket. He came up to a young woman in her early twenties. He had seen her before. "Typical" he thought "She's had five different lovers since I came here last week". She was a waitress that never seemed to loose her job-he should know, he had been going there for two years already. It was his little hidaway, his little escape from life.

"Hello, Margaret. Table for one please" said sherlock, exhaling a puff of his cigarette. "Not a problem, mister Holmes" replied Margaret, leading him to a small table in the middle of the cafe. This was routine, and she always expected him, so one table was always kept reserved for the odd-looking yet handsome young chap in the big funny coat who always takes his coffee black.

He was situated in such a way that he could see the phone booth which was placed near the entrance. "Black, two sugars?" asked Margaret, quite used to Sherlock's usual order. "ah, no, actually. I'd like something different today. To get me inspired. Something....stronger" "well.." started Mragret, a bit flustered, "We have a selection of wines on the menu" she clasped her pad and pencil abruptly, quite astonished by her friend's change in attitude "surprise me" countered sherlock, smiling halfheartedly.

As the waitress sauntered off to fetch him his order, Sherlock saw something that caught his attention. It was a woman. A strange woman. She wore a curve-hugging black dress and black fur coat, seemingly distressed by something , but oh, she was so, so--fascinating. The way she paced back and forth in the entranceway, shaking her head at a waiter offering her a seat, and pointed to the phone booth, her face full of worry.

She ran to the phone booth not five paces away to her, and slammed the door behind her. From inside the swirly glass door, sherlock saw the mysterious woman pick up the phone, talk for a length of two minutes, and then storm out not five seconds later, mascara dripping down her face. She nodded thank you to the waiter at the entrance she had talked to previously, and continued out onto the busy street.

"how odd" Sherlock thought, staring into space.

And then it hit him:

Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry