Sci Fi Variation

 

The numb buzz and flicker of the sign above Mario’s Italian Restaurant was marginally suppressed by the snowy storm that was currently assaulting the city. Snow accumulated as tiny, clumpy drifts upon bumpers, gutters, and window ledges. Passersby gripped leverage on their fashionable hoods with their fashionable gloves, a trendy East Towne Chicago in flustered chaos. It was just after 5, and most respectable suits were rushing home to their expensive condos.

Martha Stalthorpe entered the thick, bulky door of the deserted Italian restaurant. She was set to meet her husband here for dinner. Albeit short, her journey here induced second thoughts concerning keeping this week’s dinner date. However, as she removed the chunky purple scarf from her thin, lined neck, the cold chapping of her cheeks began to warm and she became comfortable at the little intimate table.

She checked her watch; a present from her husband, the gold timepiece accentuated her thin wrist and boasted of apparent status. Richard was 6 minutes late; not like him, but the weather was definitely providing unusual circumstance. She adjusted her baby pink cashmere sweater and ordered a bottle of fine Chianti from the waiter.

The waiter made her uneasy. His height and lanky limbs somehow produced an air of unease for her. Not that he looked foreboding or intimidating in any way, he just looked very…different. He abnormally effectuated a habit of licking his lips. His dark, pinky tongue would dart out of his mouth, glistening a thin slobber, quickly circle his thin lips, and then slide back into his mouth.

She noticed that as he pitter-pattered away to fetch the Chianti, the kitchen door seemed to be leaking a glassy wet. Was there a large water spill? She was halfway through making a mental note to ask the skinny waiter about the spill when Richard boomed through the heavy door.