The coffee is always good there. Actually, it’s not very good, but it’s sweet enough that you can pretend it’s good. Never mind that though, I’m more concerned about the pie. Pies are the specialty of the cafe. That’s where you go if you want a good pie for breakfast. And it was a good pie, for a while. It had all sorts of stuff in it, like … ingredients! : scintillating steak, malevolent mushrooms, cunning camembert, bouncing bacon. Quite a mouthful, or twenty. The pie belonged to my friend, and she was fixing to enjoy her breakfast. Alas, she had only managed a couple of mouthfuls before inexplicably managing to flip the plate and drop the whole steaming kit and kaboodle onto the carpet. Splat!
That was last week.
This week was a little different; same pie, different scenario. The pie went down the hatch without a hitch. Satisified, the pie-monster reclined in the sofa to enjoy a book, fell asleep and dropped said book, knocking her full cup of coffee off the table and onto the carpet.
I wasn’t surprised to hear her say fuck!