“Where the Streets Have No Name”. It’s a 6.

…She glanced down at the time on the lower right of the laptop screen: 5:05 am as muffled sounds of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter found their way from around the bar and down the hall to the office, clearly announcing the drum of Port Charlotte she’d left on the table for Nick and Ford almost 2 hours previous had most certainly been replaced by another, followed by who knows what else. Proprietors or not, those two know we’ve got a budget (she made a note to herself: “inventory bar stock, Chris’s book launch this Friday”)

She pushed away from the desk, the chair’s soft leather cradling her body; taking in a deep breath, she exhaled slowly in acknowledgement the day had been long enough; body relaxing, eyes half open, she allowed her gaze to wander the room. The soft glow from the green banker’s light had an affinity for casting delicate shadow in unsuspecting corners of the office giving life to various film and musician promo posters adorning the walls, the optical effect of which was not unpleasant. Wasn’t much of a stretch at this time of night to imagine Humphrey or Tom Hardy, B. B. or Johnny Winter pulling up a chair for an impromptu tête-à-tête.

Cool place this, the Six Sentence Café and Bistro, side street off the mundane, it was an establishment where anything was possible and there was always more to any story…