A Tale of Cupcakes, Books and Rain

A sweet beginning:

Danger: Free Cupcake Sign will knock some sense into your head.

The rain lashing against the literal and metaphorical roof:

Everyone too busy. Too busy to stop to think to read to stop and think to read please stop.

Touching, fingering the invisible thread between us. Eyes down. Up. Virgin eyes. Wondering, weighing up future eBay values. Hoping it pays off. EuroMillions jackpot. Bored side glance. Signed books. Real life author right here. Can move author arm and scribble special signature in extra special sweet author blood. Yes, blood, if need be.

Whens and whys and whats and its. No thank you, moving on now, got lots to see and do. It’s hard, hard to stifle the existential yawn. The bone scraping tiredness. The crapshoot. The evening back home. The following evening. And weeks ahead to come and be counted in their own time. Patronised by Father Time.

We change pace and push the offer, the saving, everyone wants to be saved and the children start clapping, “no, it’s not boring poetry” and the readers start flicking through to a “a very relevant title indeed.” Finally, some currency trembling our way, don’t worry, sir, you won’t regret it, the finest read since words made sense.

Cupcake crumbs land on my book. I seen it. Murder. What’s that?

“Nothing’s for free really is it?”

Truth.