Guess who walked into The Jittery Goat Cafe the other day and ordered a coffee? That’s right, Kenton Lewis.
Kenton sat at the counter and Pix sat the coffee in front of him
“Kenton, haven’t seen you in a while,” Pix said. “What’s up?”
“Been busy,” Kenton said and sipped.
“Anything in particular?” Pix said.
“Just stuff I’ve put off,” Kenton said.
“It can really pile up pretty fast on ya,” Pix said.
“Yeah, that’s for sure,” Kenton said. “I took the long way here today. Must have walked a mile or more.”
“You should get in your car and check the mileage,” Pix said. “That way you’ll know for sure. It’s good to be accurate when you’re about to tell a story.”
“How do you know I’m about to tell a story?” Kenton said.
“You always tell stories,” Pix said.
“No I don’t,” Kenton said.
“Sure ya do,” Pix said. “I ask you about the weather and you just never say, it’s sunny. You go into some long story about a summer ten years ago or what the summer reminds you of.”
“Then don’t ask,” Kenton paused for a sip.
“Okay,” Pix conceded, “what did you see on the way here?”
“On my walk here I counted nine or ten masks. A year ago they were rare. People were looking high and low for them. Now they just toss them away.”
“Was it nine masks or ten?” Pix said.
“To tell you the truth I lost count,” Kenton said. “But it was nine or ten. The point is, it was a lot in my mind.”
“Why didn’t you just say it was a lot?” Pix said.
“You might not think nine or ten is a lot,” Kenton said. “Your definition of a lot might be fifteen or sixteen or six or seven. I’m not even sure where to draw the line when it’s a few; is that two or three or is it four or five?”
“They were just masks?” Pix said. “Nothing special about them?”
“No,” Kenton said. “Most were those blue type. I saw a plain white and another black one. Then I saw one that was black and covered with sequins. Looked to me like it could have been a veil from some girl part of a harem.”
“You got quite an imagination,” Pix said.
“No,” Kenton said, “just wanted to be a little creative and give you perspective. Likely, it was discarded by some lady of the evening.” Kenton smiled in disbelief.
“Why do they call them 'lady of the evening?'” Pix said. “Ain’t that pretty much a twenty-four/seven job?”
“What time does this place close?” Kenton said.
“Six,” Pix said.
“And how long is it before you get out of here?” Kenton said.
“An hour,” Pix said.
“So seven. That’s evening, right?” Kenton said.
“Hey,” Pix said, “what are you implying?”
“Can I just tell you about my walk without interrupting me,” Kenton said. “If I knew you were going to interrupt me because of a minor detail I’d have left it out.”
“No,” Pix said, “leave it in. I got the imagery on the sequined mask now. It does add something to the story.”
“Let’s just stop right there,” Kenton said. “This is not a story. I don’t tell stories. There’s no plot or lesson or point to what I’m telling you. I’m just telling you I saw an unusual amount of discarded masks on my walk here.”
“Just because it’s not a story doesn’t me it couldn’t be one,” Pix said.
“Okay,” Kenton said, “here’s the story. A guy takes a peaceful walk. He stops for coffee. He tells a man, not unlike himself, an experience on the walk. The man, not unlike yourself, interrupts. He asks questions having nothing to do with the story. He doubts the particulars. Here’s the point; some things just aren’t worth telling. They’re not interesting; even if you add sequins to it.” Kenton stood and sipped. He sat the nearly full cup back on the counter. “End of story.” He left.
Pix strained his neck watching Kenton walk away. “He didn’t pay for the coffee. He only took a couple of sips. I’ll just pour it back in the pot.”