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Dockside Cafe Part 6 (Blogophilia 39.13)
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The Sheriff’s office looked the same, a hideous mass of concrete poured on the hillside overlooking Highway 129. A line of windows across the top resembled all-seeing eyes. Yes, Citizen. You ARE under surveillance. Gaudi himself would have loved it. I wondered how much money changed hands to get the monstrosity approved. It makes one appreciate nice buildings. Parking the car, I text my arrival. The reply came back: “I’ll meet you at the desk.” I put the gun in its lockbox and got out. Its too pretty out here to be talking to a cop. But talk I must. I pass a couple lying head to head on a bench outside the front door, lost in their phones. Modern romance, too busy to actually talk to each other. The last time I was here it was for a interview about a boat that was jacked in Naked Lady Cove. I was nowhere near it, but the owner thought I was involved since I knew Jerry Herrington. I was in the salvage business back and got lots of referrals from...
Dockside Café (Blogophilia 39.13)
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The golden pastries had the smallest amount of steam rising out of them. The scene made you wish for smell-o-vision. The fat man in the purple apron delicately takes a taste of and begins a silly dance, saying it was so good you’d slap your Momma. Another psychological trick to sell the customer on it. The whole channel devoted to stuff you can pick up at the local store. We’re almost out! The call center is jammed. Use online ordering to ensure your shipment. I look at the upper left corner of the screen at the price. Right. And people watch this for entertainment. I shut it off and put on some Ramones. I wonder if fat guy was ever sedated. He needs to be. The shopping channel was on because it was mindless noise. I never ordered the crap. I had to admire the guy, though. He had to fake enthusiasm for hours straight night after night. It had to get old after awhile Sleet is pounding outside the window. Shivering, I pull the hoodie over my head. Every year the sudden change of se...