the Bistro

friction dew drops by the mist connections on a bus which rides a ghost stop to

the ocean, bleached.  aria's shell gripped her ear canal as in a call from the salt

mines of times blissed out summers when good times were having, ago.

feet in sand, from sandles, less for the wear of tiny ageless boulders worn down from the slosh of wrecked waves on shored up lunatics.

aria began to think to herself, for herself, and to the future and, as she said,

all the things.  she was held up by grace, on these white sands.

... she sat with that one thought for quite a while.   hours perhaps.  she walked from

one edge of the rock to another, along a slight peninsula, leaving a zig zag of

toe prints up and down the beach, avoiding the odd bits of glass or trash that was

the reality of any shared space these days.  with grace.  this was all she required.

while she wanted to wiz bang through the towns and drop in on celegbrities parties

and be a star and get in the movies.. well.. she still wanted these things, but she had them, in her mind.  and with the mind she shared.  what would she call it?   cosmo lot I think, she thought to herself.

the cosmolot was a place she could create, muse, share, and have sharing bestowed upon

her, at a speed which was constant and comfortable, and not too dewey, as in decimal

decimated, but flowy, with only some pause, to draw in the light, not too bright,

maybe at night, a quiet orange, or glowey aqua blue.

she thought of aqua.  where did Q get to at these times of the day?   questions, she

thought to herself, not pressing.  it was pressing that the flow not drop, not be

stampled, or that at least she could get back when she needed.  a passcode.  she needed a passcode for her brain.  a hashtag of jubilee, as desired, when required, when requited and for the julius ceasar orange beverage, which is frothy and waits for only two dollars and 99.  makes cents.  sip.  `

well.  this was grand.  as in buttermilk biscuits, she thought this was random but it

surely wasn't.  she found herself on grand street, at a breakfast joint her and Q used to frequent.  it hadn't changed, besides new brightly colored chalk on the menu upright outside, with the specials.  Q always had the biscuits becuase he said they reminded him of dad.  Aria always chose something different and light, and this time, she saw just the thing.  a slice of quiche and an espresso.

a waiter in white came up to her as she sat down at the green iron table and chairs, gently pulling up the local paper to catch the bead of news and plan her day, with perhaps something to do in town.  she sipped the espresso when it came, and heard a slight scuffle to her rear.  she looked around.

funny.. a slightly begotten Q was patting down the dirt from his pant leg, making the english f U signal to a passing car that had run through some dry dirt with a loud stereo.

He hadn't noticed her yet, and she pulled up the paper and peered around it to see him

coming at the coffee shop

"hosestly," he turned around, back to the shop, "yes, you DO need an eduation.. in mannera!" he scowled at the purple metalic boxy looking catruck that was on its way aways.

he turned back. "oh the bastilles" looking at the front page of the paper, and "hi aria".

she ruffled the paper down and brightly glared at him, "how did you know?"

"I got you those sandles, remember?"

"Oh Yes..  well welcome to town, I just got here, would you like your usual, you're welcome to join me, I was just . . ."

"beached, yes.. I followed you.. I was thinking the same thing on the beach and thought I'd also get a spot of breakfast.. what was it, cosmolot?"

"why yes.. " aria had to quite remember they went to the same telepath training class in geneva, oh must have been. . .

"twenty years ago today, bastille". he said.

why yes, exactly that.

"and we promised to meet up at 20, from the time at the class, and we did a lab exercise to program this date, and date, into our subconcious, don't you remember?"

"of course, I don't, we programmed ourselves to forget about it, but you know I was ever the clever student and worked my way around it"

oh did you.. and that's an orange in your purse.. wasn't it supposed to be a grapefruit?

"an orange is more practical, and besides, you were supposed to be carrying"

"a lilly.. yes it was given to me on that side street just now.. it appears we're in the right place with the right people."

"classy", aria blunted.  that means we're all here.

yes.. now let's just make that phone call we're supposed to make.. after breakfast of course,  I do believe biscuits between trinkets, IS in the dictionary.

yes, and we need to change anyway.

and change, he said.. that one still takes dimes.  we can check the checque and bounce

over to holly's place for the introductions, the gear is already been shipped, so

we shouldn't have any issues with imports.

with a perky grin, with  past coming to present, and her quiche arriving hot and steaming, she cheer's Q with her fork, 'bottoms up!"

absolutely, and we'll narrate this next bit for you after a quick radio spot.

oh yes. the radio.. thank you aqua.  we almost forgot.``

SubSCRiBE!