The corrugated steel shutter seemed solemnly closed and immune to whatever Jedi mind-tricks one may have at his disposal. I'm not saying that either Hitesh or I possessed any such skill; just that had we been trained in the mystical arts, we would still have remained sorely disappointed. A gold tinted disc with a tinted gold 'Pi' gleamed unfettered in the murky drizzle of a nondescript Monday. If you think about it Mondays are an awful way to spend a seventh of our lives.
A slick-haired man kept flitting in and out of view about the shop. He had a familiar look about him. A closer look revealed him to be one of the vendors who keep handing me a pineapple pastry when I ask for the butterscotch. A small minivan stood gloomily at the steps. It was so gloomy, it was blue. I glanced at my watch. It was 4:45.
-"D'you reckon it will open anytime soon?" I asked.
-"Gno," Hitesh replied.
Hitesh is a snowy haired fellow with multiple double-chins and the general look of a befuddled Peter Pettigrew in one of those Harry Potter films. He had a stone lodged in his nose once. He'd had to have it forcefully removed.
-"Is that the reason you have a nasal voice?" I'd asked him once.
-"Gno!" he'd snapped resentfully.
Our present company was now joined by a troupe of others hustling about the shop, examining the locks and scratching their heads. Hopeful customers stood gazing hungrily at the shop, which remained defiantly shut. None of them was a Jedi, I figured.
-"What's the matter?" one of the bystanders ventured to ask at length.
The slick-haired man looked about him at nothing in particular.
-"We don't know where the keys are," he replied earnestly.
A collective sigh of resignation was followed by the footsteps of disappointed students retiring to their hostels. Pi shop is the only respite for the careworn students of our college, with schedules wracked with deadlines, assignments and surprise quizzes. It was unfortunate. I had really grown a fondness for the pineapple pastries.
-"That is unusual, isn't it?" I conjectured.
-"Gno!" Hitesh replied.
A slick-haired man kept flitting in and out of view about the shop. He had a familiar look about him. A closer look revealed him to be one of the vendors who keep handing me a pineapple pastry when I ask for the butterscotch. A small minivan stood gloomily at the steps. It was so gloomy, it was blue. I glanced at my watch. It was 4:45.
-"D'you reckon it will open anytime soon?" I asked.
-"Gno," Hitesh replied.
Hitesh is a snowy haired fellow with multiple double-chins and the general look of a befuddled Peter Pettigrew in one of those Harry Potter films. He had a stone lodged in his nose once. He'd had to have it forcefully removed.
-"Is that the reason you have a nasal voice?" I'd asked him once.
-"Gno!" he'd snapped resentfully.
Our present company was now joined by a troupe of others hustling about the shop, examining the locks and scratching their heads. Hopeful customers stood gazing hungrily at the shop, which remained defiantly shut. None of them was a Jedi, I figured.
-"What's the matter?" one of the bystanders ventured to ask at length.
The slick-haired man looked about him at nothing in particular.
-"We don't know where the keys are," he replied earnestly.
A collective sigh of resignation was followed by the footsteps of disappointed students retiring to their hostels. Pi shop is the only respite for the careworn students of our college, with schedules wracked with deadlines, assignments and surprise quizzes. It was unfortunate. I had really grown a fondness for the pineapple pastries.
-"That is unusual, isn't it?" I conjectured.
-"Gno!" Hitesh replied.
2 comments:
Beautiful inimitable style as always, but this one has less substance than the others dealing with similar situations. You get the feeling it could go in a number of directions but it doesn't really, well, go.
300 word limit :( I've gone a bit overboard still.
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