“Yeah”, I tell the writer as the waiter slides my taza to me on the table, “it´s a decent title for a book–but, I think that it needs work.”
He pauses; that was my best material.
“How about this”, he says as he picks up his taza, “GIRLWAR: A brief history of struggle in the fight for dominance in the female realm.”
“Yeah”, I say as I set my taza down, “that´s pretty good–it´s got suspense. It´s like, ´WOAH… what happens next? Oh man–what a mystery? I´m on the edge of my seat.´”
The writer smiles.
“That´s my intent”, he says as he picks up a biscotti from the platter in the middle of the table, “like what is going to happen, what happened, what is happening now–like, beyond the visible spectrum of both what we can visually see and intellectually understand–what´s up?”
“Like”, I say as I reach over for a biscotti, “what do I need to know, right now? What is the course of action most appropriate to this current scenario; what situation am I in; can you take the reins, ´I´m slightly drunk?´”
“Oh!”, the writer says as he leans back in his chair, “you´re drunk?”
“Oh no”, I reply as I take a bite of the biscotti, “I don´t, or rarely, drink–I´m being DRAMATICaf. Like for your book–you´re like, ´OMG… what´s going on? I´m so confused… I need to keep reading… Potato–are they going to eat potato for dinner–I.HAVE.TO.KNOW!´”
“That´s hella suspenseful”, the writer says as he leans forward and pick up his taza, “like… I think that I´m missing something important–a part of the puzzel is left out? We need the missing piece to complete the mosaic tile in the bathroom floor.”
I roll my eyes.
“That sounds personal”, I say as I lean back and take a sip of coffee, “so anyways… I´m going to hire you to ghostwrite a small paperback–roughly 200 pages. It´s going to be the missing chapter in the story.”
I pause; I lean forward and set down my taza.
“Let´s go with your girlwar theme–build the story around that. Who are the key players–leave it to 7 people? What are the key places–keep it simple, yet impactful? What is the action that happens next?”
“When do you need it?”
“Here… use the keys to my spacejet and set the destination to 6 days ago; that gives you 5 full days of time to write; then, meet me here the day after to deliver the project, and I´ll pay you.”
I slide an envelope over to the writer on the table.
“Here´s 50%“, I say as I turn my head to look out the window, “when you come back here after going backwards, then forwards, I´ll slide an envelope to you, again, with the other 50%, but that will be for the completed project. Ok?”
The writer pauses; he picks up the envelope and puts it in his bookbag. I look at my watch.
“Ok”, I say as I stand up from my chair and pick up my bookbag, “see you 35 minutes ago!”
He pauses; takes a sip of his coffee; stands up.
I pause; I reach into my pocket and pull out my keychain; I toss it in the air to him; he grabs it; puts them in his pocket.
“Ok”, he says as he pushes his chair into the table at the small cafe by the ocean, “see you again earlier today!”
I pause; that doesn´t really sounds right grammatically.
“Um…”, I say as turn my head back to the writer, “if I can´t make it–there will be a package for you with the greeter with your name on it. Just ask if there´s anything for me–say your name KSN.2–and, if I can´t make it, leave the deliverables with them. I have a mystery later, that may end yesterday, when you arrive today, earlier.”
“Ok”, he says as he turns his head to look down at the tile floor, “that makes sense.”
“As we used to say on Earth”, I tell him as turn to look out the window; 26 surfers today–it´s packed, “catch you on the flip side.”
Moments later, we leave the small cafe and go seperate ways.