Despite my poor performance of late—which is less poor than you imagine since I’ve written more than I’ve posted—I keep moving the chain forward a little bit at a time. I like when I get to even tens mark. I do that tomorrow, but because of how I create my evergreen file I actually typed ‘870’ today. It’s got me thinking ahead to the 876 mark. I think today I’ll see what inspiration I might draw from an earlier serial number.
Looks like I’ll be playing with:
Musi stood at the gate of her patio greeting the day like a regular.
“Fine morning, I feel,” she said then sipped her milk-tamed purple tea. Madrigar looked up from his sweeping and smiled. After a lengthy pause—during which she finished her private thoughts and suspected he was doing the same—she heard him agree with a considered hum.
She laughed to herself at his response. They’d been exchanging similar quiet conversation each morning all spring since she’d been installed here at the west entrance to Run Dark Alley. “You always agree with me, old man.”
“I would not agree if you were not correct, miss.”
“But you always agree. Am I always correct?”
“When you commend the day, always.”
Musi lifted her teacup to Madrigar as a question. He nodded, so she pointed to her stack of large porceline cups as a second question. He shook his head and indicated the short clear glasses at the end of her counter.
“This Drangee Purple may be dark, but it is also mild. You could drink two this size and still take your afternoon nap.”
“I like to watch the colors swirl while I drink.” Then after scratching his forehead, “I’m doing my tallies; not napping.”
She winked away his lie. “It’s no problem to pour yours into one of the pinters I use for the ices?”
“Still,” he gestured again at the same stack.
Madrigar was difficult to indulge, but Musi tried every morning. If she offered him a thick slice from a still-warm loaf of Courthouse Rye he would only accept the crusty heel—”Unbuttered, please”. If, during the heat of the day, she walked over an insulated mug full of green apple flavored ice the mug would later be returned—clean—by one of his customers with great thanks for the refreshment. [One more example here]. [at first she thought he was being polite since he didnt have much money. But as the attempts wore on she treated it more like a game (also she became suspicious of his appearant lack of wealth)]
[when she first set up her stall she’d thought-arrogantly- that her business would boost Madrigar’s but over the months as she watched the flow of traffic she realized he sent her more patrons than she ever sent his way.]
469 words on day 869