Terminus: ?

"Waiting"
~07/07/07
(Photo by Michi)

Later I found myself waiting at the Cafe Interzone for the arrival of my contact, the elusive Mr.M. I found the service atrocious, a somnambulisit ballet if you will, between utter contempt and gross stupidity. As for the quality of the meal itself; the Pain Poilane was flavored with a light speckling of a still unidentified fungi, the Blanquette de veau was a complete travesty and it was only the ineptly poisoned Côtes du Rhône that gave the meal any semblance of palatability. Despite having to endure such deplorable service the evening was further marred by a series of clumsy assassination attempts, each more embarassing than the next in their execution, before M finally arrived in a haze of cigar smoke and elaboarate excuses for his tardiness. Social necessitites were skipped, the watch words were whispered along with their corresponding hand shake and finally the packages were exchanged. And not a moment to soon, as my sleepwalking waitress approached with an abortion of a Mille-feuille, the rusted razors in the custard were obvious even from across the cafe. It was then that I made my abrubt exit, leaving M with both the check and the horrors of the Cafe Interzone staff to contend to.