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The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) dashed down from her apartment (all six floors), then trotted across a couple of roads to get to the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro; she was about to enter the establishment, and she was sure she could smell the particular aroma of a cigar… she smiled… a lot.

La Raconteuse scanned around the place; it was quite early, so few people were around, but Mimi and Denise, aka the Bartender, were talking about making lunch.

“A lovely selection of tomatoes, courgettes, carrots and lots of spuds,” grinned Mimi, “and all organic food of course,” – “perfect,’ smiled the Bartender, “you’ll use the carrots to make carrot cake?” – “oh, naturally,” as Mimi went back to the kitchen to organize everything.

La Raconteuse sat on a stool opposite the Bartender and said, “what’s happening just now,” as the Bartender slid a flyer, “look at this.”

“See, it’s going to be a function, right here,” said the Bartender, “where there will be music and lights, and then everything will go dark and then the spot light will come up… it will be a slam poets party… see, look it says here.”

“And I will be the overseer,” said the tall, thin man, as he suddenly appeared from the hallway, “you’ll enjoy this a great deal, won’t you,” as he grinned, “we’re starting a list, all those poetry people, either actually here, or on line… it’ll be next week, oh, and don’t worry, our excellent friend, the Gatekeeper, will be looking after the door.”

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“It’s such a hip joint, isn’t it,” grinned the red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) as she and Aurelia sat up by the beautiful mahogany bar in the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro: “you see, if we sit just here we can see everything from the back mirrors behind us.”

“You’re right, you can,” smiled Mimi as she appeared from the double doors in the kitchen, next to the middle of the bar; then she extended her right hand to shake Aurelia, “please to meet you, my dear, it’s always nice to have a new friend… anything you would like to eat, by the way?”

“I bet cake will be involved,” grinned la Raconteuse, “but before that, what in the Sam Hill have you been doing for so long, dear Mimi?”

“But surely both of us have been busy in the hall and further up to the different floors in that very large building,” said Mimi – “ah yes, that’s very true,” as la Raconteuse gestured to the darker parts by the hall, “lots of interesting doors and windows as we know.”

Then Aurelia said, as she jumped down, “I need to go to the bathroom, I’ll not be long, I promise, it’s just a little problem,” as she rubbed her back as if there was something niggling in her pretty shirt.

So the two of them, Mimi and la Raconteuse, began to talk and quickly, starting with Mimi, as la Raconteuse said, “go on, fire away, there are so many stories we need to tell.”

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The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) grinned happily as she and Aurelia sat together in that excellent booth, the one where la Raconteuse preferred, they had continued to work, her on her laptop, and Aurelia on her bells and whistles smartphone, and they felt that both of them had achieved quite a lot already.

“That’s good, isn’t it,” said la Raconteuse, “I’ve lots of little silly stories and some poems, and a couple are okay, I think, but, you, lovely Aurelia, you have many fantastic ones and much more as well.”

“But I do have a problem though, and I’m wondering if you can help me, dear Aurelia, you see, I think I need to archive some of my emails and photos, there’re too many on this rather old laptop.”

“Not a prob,” smiled Aurelia, “it’ll only take a jiffy, or I could give you the steps to do it, if you prefer?” – “oh no, you do it, please!”

“Oh, excellent,” grinned la Raconteuse, as she stooped down to massage one of her feet, “you know, my foot arch is still sore even though my lovely new trainers are very comfy, you remember when I slipped when I first saw you,” as she grinned again.

“Anyway, let’s go to the bar just now,” as they began to walk; “gosh,” muttered la Raconteuse, “look, it’s Frank, Lou and the tall, thin man, they’re talking nonsense again, at least us two, plus Mimi and Denise, we’ve many useful conversations, don’t we think?”

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The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) was more than relieved, she had sat down at the pleasant table not far from the bar and by Frank, the tall, thin man and Lou, and all of them were talking about various things, including that strange voice which no one could see.

But la Raconteuse was already rather restless since she had not been able to write for far too long; she quickly arranged all her stuff in her big red bag, then she stood up (carefully), and walked to the bar, right by one of her best friends, Denise aka the Bartender.

“You’ve been busy for a while, haven’t you,” grinned Denise as she put the coffees and cakes on a long tray, “do you want some of this as well?” – “very much so,” said la Raconteuse, “although I would rather go back to my usual booth,” – “not a problem,” said Denise, “I’ll join you for a bit.”

So, Denise and the red-headed writer had a great gassing time; they grinned, they laughed and, well, what a riot they had, as they made many jokes and schemes.

But then Denise had to go back to the bar, and the red-headed writer was back to her nonsense writing very tall tales and many spinning yarns.

A little later, la Raconteuse looked up, she muttered to herself, and said, that must be the pretty young woman who Denise mentioned in passing, I’m sure she’s a poet, I’ll have to meet her, and soon!

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The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) was feeling rather off-kilter since that odd room, called Room 215, was still bugging her, she had notice that it said it was only for Proprietors on the door, but clearly she had seen other people inside, like Frank, for example, so that didn’t seem correct.

La Raconteuse had dithered for a bit, wondering what she should do with that small card that she had got, it said, “Get out of jail, it’s free”, but in the end she managed to poke it under the door, maybe Moxie might decide to come into the hallway?

But little Moxie had been adamant to stay in those areas around the Room 215, and the last thing la Raconteuse heard was Moxie running with a little pink kite.

Heaving a small sigh, la Raconteuse held her big bag tightly as she had a last look at that door, but then she thought she should not go any further along the hallway to the back, but rather she should go to the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro.

She was walking quite quickly now, but she stopped to see if the tall, thin man was around in the Manager’s Office, but no-one was there; but then she saw a young pretty woman who was about to go into the bathroom.

She had stopped just before opening the door, as she took one shoe off then rubbed her foot; she was wearing kitten heel shoes and it was clear that one of them pinched.

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