By Clara Challoner Walker
Colm McFie’s establishment, “The Clean Café”, clings precariously to the corner of a street in Leith, Edinburgh. Haphazard pricing and an accidentally acquired bo-ho reputation attracts clientele ranging from nouveau-wharf flat-owners to street girls. Colm’s lack of any skill normally associated with stewardship of a business, renders the café’s survival from week to week a pleasant surprise to its growing cadre of regulars.
Mary had shrunk into the café’s remotest corner. She had sipped two mugs of sweet tea as her harvest mouse eyes darted to reassure herself of her continuing invisibility. She gripped a train-spotter’s notebook and bit the end of a blue biro. A sticky sensation reminded her that the urgency of her escape from the house that Saturday morning had again prevented attention to matters ablutionary.
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