The Art of Eating Toast

“The phrase "You're Toast" is often used to refer to those who are about to suffer brutal damage at the hands of the speaker.” Wikipedia

Press play.

The interior of the café is not unpleasant. The smell is not revolting. The pale blue walls and general underwater ambience are enough, however; to impress upon the enterer the feeling he’s stepped inside a fish tank. Tables and chairs are old and worn, perhaps salvaged from the hulk of a sunken ship, lost at some ragged spot upon a rocky coast, in the deep dark woods, of the soul. Somewhere behind an iron door, a radio is playing rag time classics.

Behind a door, it is playing.

Indeed, one chair in particular may catch the eye of the hapless seeker of a hearty breakfast. Painted a fire engine red and adorned with the purple face of Barney the Dinosaur, it appears quite out of place among the rest of the faded grey furniture. There is something strangely comfortable looking about it; perhaps the only chair in the room with some form of cushioning material. And it is upon this very red chair, above all else, that the dweller on the threshold desires to rest his weary legs. Therefore you lead your sleepy companion to a corner of the room and sit yourself down upon your very red chair, satisfied with your choice of seating and the fact that your companion has to sit on a much less comfortable and interestingly coloured, grey chair. Menu now in hand, there can no doubting the special appeal for the hungry and hung-over traveller, of the adequate and reasonably priced mini grill.

Travellers between late night and early morning are we, upon this stage of life.

But it’s only after the moustachioed waiter has taken your order, complemented you on your excellent choice of seating and disappeared behind the iron door that strange questions begin to arise in your mind’s inner mind, like:

What’s behind the iron door?
Does the mini grill come with toast?
Did that old guy get toast with his?
Did he get the more expensive mixed grill?
Is my companion getting up to go for a number one or a number two?

In this life there are only questions. Does one really enjoy a toilet activity or is it more a feeling of relief? Is enjoyment and relief the same thing?
You make ask who they are, this greasy waiter bringing out two plates of grilled rot, that old prick with his basket of toast and more luxurious mixed grill, your strange companion who hasn’t said a word since entering the café. Do they enjoy all this business? You want nothing but a small basket of toast.
“Can I get some toast with that?” You demand desperately above a plate of grilled junk.

People move in and out. A child enters in its young fathers arms, crying and pointing in your direction. Your companion returns and hands you a phone he found in the hallway.

The human eye usually takes a number of split seconds to focus on a digital image. The focus time however is unique to each pair of eyes. The average time it takes between looking at an image and our brain making sense of what we are seeing is usually about 0.02 seconds. However, after a time you will comprehend the image on the phone is a photo of a purple dinosaur attacking a clearly distressed man, who is sitting on a very red chair, at a grey table, in a small café.

The inside of the café however, is not unpleasant.

In fact you are so astonished by the image that you are quite unaware of the purple dinosaur that has entered the room from behind the iron door and has come to stand at your side holding a basket of toast and an electric carving knife, until he screams in a shrill feminine voice:

“You’re toast, fucker!” and proceeds to carve you open.

Behind the iron door time slows down. Chairs have been placed at tables, floors have been swept. The moment has come and the sound of nervous shuffling echoes through the great halls. A thousand dinosaur eyes roll and stare and blink in the darkness.

Breakfast is served.

Day Seven. Part 1

Day seven. I was late to work again today but who cares. Seven days no clients maybe I needed to do a bit more advertising. I don’t know though if telling all five people I know about my new business doesn’t work then what would? Still I decided to place an ad in the local paper, mainly because it was cheap.
I call the number and spoke to a young woman who took my details and tells me the ad will appear in tomorrow’s edition.
“Nothing to do now but sit back and wait for the work to roll in.” I say to no one in particular.
Just as I put my feet up on the desk to relax the phone rings.
“OH YA” I scream jumping to my feet. But wait I think the ad is not out until tomorrow.
“Hello.” I say once I have picked up the phone.
“Hello this is Mary from the newspaper office. I was wondering what type of work you do?”
“Oh the usual. Ah…..” to be honest I didn’t really know what I did as I hadn’t gotten any jobs yet, “Body guard, finding missing people ah….. Being an all around legend ….. Basically what ever I will get paid for.”
“Oh good, be at 10 waldon street at 8 tonight and come alone.” She says and hangs up.
‘Interesting’ I think, ‘finally a case to get my teeth into’.
8.30 I arrive at 10 waldon street and I see the woman standing in a door way wearing a tight black dress. ‘This could be a very sexy first job.’ I think. She has a dog on a leash beside her. ‘Not really into that,’ I think, ‘but let’s see where this goes.’
“You’re late.” She says glaring at me.
“I doubt it.” I say, “So what’s the job?”
She looks me up and down for a minute and then says, “I’m going to la Rome for dinner and I want you…..”
I interrupt her before I she can finish “I’m afraid you are going to have to go some where else. Unfortunately last time I was in la Rome there was some unpleasantness and let’s just say I am no longer welcome there.”
“Yes well luckily for everyone you are not coming with me. I need you……”
“Lady,” I say interrupting her again, “why would you call me out here not to go anywhere with you. I mean it’s your buck. I charge the same for doing nothing as I do for ah…doing.”
“Well don’t worry you will be ‘doing’ as you put it. I called you here to look after fufu.” She says.
“Lady, I don’t know what the hell that is but if it’s illegal I charge double.”
“Fufu is my dog. La Rome has the best food in town but they don’t allow dogs, even dogs as sophisticated as fufu into the restaurant. My usual minder cancelled at the last moment so I am going to pay you to stand here and mind fufu while I eat my meal.”
“No bother lady,” I say taking the dogs lead. “cujo is safe with me.”
“FUFU, is a champion poodle and worth more than your life. Please don’t move from this spot.” She turns and walks into the restaurant.
I look down at the animal who is wearing a rather flashy blue cardigan and say, “Come on Cujo lets go for a walk.”