Shaking in Her Flip Joyce Oroz

“Allie, put your collar up like this and pull down the hood. Nobody will know who we are, you know, in case the owner’s around.”

“Right,” Alicia said as she rolled her eyes and adjusted her jacket. “Why don’t we have lunch in that little café over there?” She pointed to what looked like an old cable car attached to the side of the pier about ten feet above the water. “We can watch the boat from there and no one will see us snooping around.”

The trek to Connie’s Café included climbing back up the steep stairs to the wharf, a short walk and then down a set of wooden stairs to the ‘open’ sign hanging on the Café’s weathered door. Alicia opened the door, looked inside, and grimaced.

“These places always look a little dingy, but that’s where the best food is,” I said as I nudged her through the door. “I love places like this.” We sat down at the first table with a view of the boats. It was near the door and across the small room from a group of four noisy men who were tan, windblown and smelled of fish.

“That’s our menu, up there,” a young blond woman with big hips said as she pointed to a scribbled chalkboard-list of foods hanging above the grill. “I’ll be back in a minute.” She marched over to the men and refilled their coffee mugs.

“See anything you want, Allie?”

“No salads, guess I’ll have the chowder. How about you?”

“Chowder sounds good. I wonder if they serve it in a bread bowl,” I said, brushing someone else’s crumbs off my paper placemat.

“Don’t forget to watch the boat.”


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