The Sprawl

The streets were wet and so was the sidewalk, indicating that it had rained recently. Kane walked the streets huddling in his overcoat in an attempt to fight the icy wind that numbed his face. The nearest coffee shop was less than a kilometre away, Kane reached for his wallet and found two crumpled hundred rupee notes inside. Enough for a pack of cigarettes and a cup of hot coffee. There wasn'ta taxi in sight and even if there was one it was too expensive. Over the years Kane had trained himself to travel long distances on foot without breaking down.

Kane headed downstairs to the basement of the Kings Plaza, the Latte Lounge was right ahead. He opened the door and was greeted by waves of warmth and the smell of fresh coffee being brewed. He slumped into a corner seat, grateful to be off the streets and to have escaped the cold that had cocooned the city, and placed his laptop on the glass table. The waiter came towards him, and Kane ordered his coffee and a pack of Benson and Hedges.

Kane laid back on the comfortable sofa for a while, letting the warmth and cosiness of the room dispel some of the accumulated coldness of his body. The waiter arrived with a tray in his hands and placed a cup of steaming coffee and a pack of cigarettes on the table before retreating to the counter. Kane unwrapped the pack and searched his pockets for his Zippo, he lit a cigarette and exhaled after a long drag. He then took a sip of his coffee as he opened up his laptop and powered it on. Welcome to the land of the living, he thought to himself.

The Latte Lounge was one of those new artsy places where people dressed up in basic black chugged coffee and talked politics. While some sat next to the book-stand and browsed through the Lounge's collection of books or wired to the Internet through the WiFi network. At 11:27 PM the place was almost full. A gray haired man sat on one table and tapped furiously on his laptop, he looked like one of those corporate types, dressed in a tailored suit. A group of teenagers sat snuggled up with each other on another table, but the girl sitting across Kane was what really caught his attention. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a gray high-neck sweater and had stylishly cut dark brown hair that cascaded down to her shoulders. She sat cross-legged, absorbed in her issue of the Economist. Occasionally, she would bring her cigarette to her full lips and take a long drag, her breasts heaving as she did so.

After giving the girl a once over, Kane turned his focus back to his warm mug of coffee and lit another cigarette. He continued to puff on his cigarette, catching occasional glances at the girl sitting across him. For an instant their eyes met, hers were a light hazel color, silently piercing through him. Eventually, he looked away and tried to appear busy. He decided to check his email and tapped away the address of one of his three mail services. One was for general things and included all his contacts, the second one was for important emails and one he seldom used, while the third one was unknown to his associates and held a more sinister purpose. Three new emails, he opened his inbox to check them. Two of them were junk mail that had managed to elude the filter, while the third was one of those never ending forwarded messages, from an associate with far too much time on their hand, that contained the most unbelievable information, literally.

While he was still clearing his inbox, the girl stood up to leave. As she passed by Kane, a shiny black pen fell from her hands, as she struggled to balance her bag, magazine and celphone, and came to rest at Kane's feet. Kane bent down to pick it up and held it out to her while the girl hovered above him still trying to clutch her precious belongings. She took the pen and managed to put it in her pocket.

'Thank you so much.' She had a strong confident voice that was neither chripy, nor husky but somewhere in between.

With that she walked away and Kane watched her leave over his shoulder, calling the waiter to bring his bill as he did so. The waiter was dutifully at Kane's table in an instant wearing a plastic smile, walking away after he laid the bill on the table. Eighty for cigarettes, one twenty for the coffee. Kane placed two hundred on the table, no tip for this bastard. He moved the bill and the money on the edge of the table and picked up his laptop, cigarettes and his lighter from the table. He noticed a scrap of paper on the table, the bill was still where he had placed it, he picked it up. 'Farah, 0300-5150796'.

'The sly bitch...' Kane said to himself, remembering how she was half crouched near his table while he was picking up the pen she has so clumsily dropped just at his feet. He pocketed the paper and walked out the door.