Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.
It is hosted by Denise and, other than insisting on six sentences-per-story, she maintains a light-to-a-fault hand on the proceedings.
…in any event. We were ‘talking’ to Friend-of-the-Doctrine and fellow SSC&B Proprietor, Chris about a character in this week’s Six, namely, the Sophomore. With no encouragement from her, (being a mature person), we got it in our heads to suggest a ‘walk-on’ story. (When one writer ‘sets up’ another to allow the fun of seeing their character in action. Usually with full consent.) lol
To provide a little continuity, click here, for the lead-in Six.
Prompt word:
LIMIT
The post Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- [a(nother) Café Six] first appeared on the Wakefield Doctrine.“Yeah, I heard… from out on the sidewalk,” the Sophomore shrugged his worn, grey-wool overcoat higher on his shoulders, any resemblance to a knight adjusting the brigandine being lowered on his shoulders was purely coincidental.
“You ever had a saying get stuck in your head,” he continued; the Bartender leaned forward over the bar to a near-musical accompaniment of multiple rings on polished mahogany followed by a cymbal splash, courtesy of a silver pendant on a long chain and offered, “Like an earworm?”
“Yeah, sorta but it’s actually a proverb,” the putative time-traveler raised his chin in casual interrogatory towards the bearded man next to him, “Hey, Nick, isn’t one of your fellow Proprietors something of an expert on old cultural sayings and artifacts?”
The Gatekeeper smiled, “Dude, you have been paying attention, I guess the late ’60s weren’t just fifteen-dollar-ounces and In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida;” his up-raised palm was enthusiastically met by the Bartender‘s descending hand; “Oh, vous deux!”; Mimi‘s voice lit the darkness at the far end of the bar.
“That’d be the Raconteuse; normally she’d be sitting over in one of the alcoves, but she’s been on safari; I heard something about some kind of clerical error on her US visa that put a limit on her time here; what’s this proverb of yours?”
Taking out a crumpled No. 10 envelop from his coat pocket, the Sophomore read: “Until the lion learns how to write, every story will glorify the hunter.’
