Heels on Wheels doesn't give a damn...

Good morning Wednesday. There are those of us who spend their lives wishing we were normal. Wishing we were just like everyone else.

And there are those of us who fight tooth and nail to head for the hills whenever normal comes knocking on the door.

Heels on Wheels doesn't give a damn either way.

All she wants is someone who wants her. All she wants us someone who can see past the obvious and say hello to the kick inside.

And Heels on Wheels is one helluva kick.

Six inch stilettos, four motorised tyres, two useless legs, one lonely heart. Parked in the reserved space by the window of the coffee shop.

I stand at the bar. Order given. Coinage given.

How long has she been coming here, I say to Little Italy.

Since Noah built his little boat, she says, and fills up my cup.

She's waiting for Mister Right, she says. Maybe today’s the right day, she says. The world is full of Mister Rights who turn out to be Mister Lefts, I say. She gives me the kinda shrug that says maybe so...maybe no.

Heels on Wheels is sipping something dark and steamy. Looking at the door in between sips like she’s waiting for something to happen.

But the door is just a dead slab of glass that only comes alive when somebody comes in or goes out. It’s looking for a little action. A little push and shove. Just like Heels on Wheels.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I grab my skinny latte and head for a vacant spot in the corner.

I see everyone. Nobody sees me. Fair exchange no robbery. Just as I sit down I get a little peripheral vision. A little corner of the eye thing.

Three tables away I see OCD Girl.

Small, dark and beautiful. Curly hair. Light brown skin. Bright white blouse. All buttoned up.

Arranging her stuff on the table. Clockwise three times. Anti-clock once. Don’t miss a move. Don’t break the groove.

She stops. Turns. Sees my peripheral. Looks away fast.

Another turn anti-clock. Nods at the mug. Now a slow count to thirty to let the cappuccino cool to 155 degrees. No more. No less.

That’s when the coffee nods back. That’s when optimum taste is achieved. That’s when she hears the voice in her head say ‘damn that’s a fine cuppa Joe’.

Then it’s all systems go. Six gulps. No more. No less. Ten pages of her book. Another six gulps. Another ten pages. A little obsessive. A touch compulsive. But hey…we do what we do to feel good about ourselves, right?

Off to the right, the door swings open and Mister Right, six feet four of muscle and brain squeezes through the space.

Heels on Wheels' heart steps up a beat. Then another. Breath catches in her throat.

Little Italy looks at the box on the wall. The box acts fast. Reaches down. Pulls up number 80 and slides it onto the turntable.

The curtains open. Etta James stands at the mike. Lush orchestral intro sets the scene. Her sweet voice oozes across the air. Hairs stand on end.

At Last.

Mister Right looks at her. She looks at him. The rest of the world excuses itself and disappears out of sight.

We're born. We die. And the whole alphabet of life is what happens in between.

Be the same.

Be different.

Be cool…

***************************************

You've just read an extract from my book of urban romance...it's called Love & Coffee.

All my published books are available separately from those nice people at Amazon…right here.

(Urban Essays):

Ad Interruptus: https://amzn.to/3AmkfjQ

Ad Infinitum: https://amzn.to/3pof7Uq

Ad Lib: https://amzn.to/2kd4LKf.

Ad Hoc: https://amzn.to/2Nx8GL8

(Unfinished): Ad Astra

(Urban Romance)

Love & Coffee: https://amzn.to/28IWaHq

(Humorous Science Fantasy)

Heaven Help Us: https://amzn.to/2nkQ1Jk

Or…you can pop along to my new website at brycemain.co.uk and have a sneaky peek at them all together in the one place.

And choose one for 2023...