The Tattooed Rat and The Eyepatch Blonde...

Some folk spend all their lives trying to be the same as everyone else.

They act the same. Look the same. Think the same. They become individually invisible. They disappear into the crowd.

It’s a safety mechanism. A coping strategy. That way they don’t get noticed. Don’t get singled out. Don’t get hurt.

Other folk don’t give a damn about fitting in. They want to stand out. Be different. Be unique.

They want to make a difference. Make a noise. See me, they say. This is who I am, they say. Piss off if you don’t like what you see, they say.

It’s 8am and already the sun is making the concrete sweat. As I walk across the city centre square and step between the tramlines, the faint aroma of dark roasted coffee taps me on the nose. Making its presence felt from 30 yards away.

I walk through the door and the first person I see is The Tattooed Rat. Norvegicus logo on the back of a sleek black tee. Black combats. Military speedlace jungle boots. Standing at the bar. Facing Little Italy.

His body a statement written and drawn in ink. His statement. His story. Locked into the dermis. Yelling at the world. Danger Will Robinson…danger.

Little Italy eats danger for breakfast. She blows a stray curl away from her eyes and nods. The Tattooed Rat nods back. Let me guess…you want the usual, she says. He frowns, smiles and shakes his head slowly. I don’t come in for a year or more and you remember my usual, he says. You’re a very unusual usual, she says.

You changed things around since then, he says. Little Italy smiles slow and easy. Always expect the unexpected, she says.

One double espresso with a fast squeeze of toffee sauce in hand, The Tattooed Rat sniffs the air and makes a move for a vacant spot against the far wall.

Halfway there he walks past The Eyepatch Blonde and I see him pause and look down. He says two or three words. She looks up. Blinks her right eye. He moves on. Slides his back against the wall, and parks his arse.

A dozen heartbeats later, she gets up from her chair. Picks up her half-drunk latte. Walks over to his table and sits down. Doesn’t say a word. Just looks at The Tattooed Rat long and hard. Her good eye slowly roaming over every inch of his skin she can see. Feasting on a banquet of ink.

After a couple of minutes he leans over and whispers something in her ear. She smiles and nods a yes.

Over behind the bar, Little Italy turns and says something to Big Red who rolled up her right sleeve and displayed a tattoo of a half heart. I wonder who has the other half.

The door opens and The Girl With Pink Earphones walks in. Little Italy looks at the box on the wall and nods. The box gets the message like it always does.

It reaches down deep, pulls a slice of vinyl from a stack and slips number 39 onto the turntable.

The curtains open. A spotlight hits the stage. Cue Francis Albert Sinatra at the mike. Cue Nelson Riddle orchestra at the back. Cue big band swing and an intro known all over the world. I’ve got you, under my skin.

The Tattooed Rat opens his mouth to speak. The Eyepatch Blonde puts a finger across his lips. Stops the words. Lifts her patch. Shows him the tattoo underneath.

One word.

The Tattooed Rat smiles.

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The above is an extract from my book Love & Coffee (available from all good Amazons).

It's about the lives and loves of the customers in a city centre coffee shop.

And it's about the woman who takes care of them.

You'll find Love & Coffee (along with all my other books, Ad Lib, Ad Hoc, Ad Infinitum, and Heaven Help Us) waiting for you to fall in love with, on Amazon. Any time of the day or night. Right here...

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

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

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

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

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

Grab a coffee, grab a chair, and grab a sneaky peek.

Then grab a copy