Friday, April 04, 2008

Coffee Cup Courtroom


“How ridiculous.” Harold threw the letter onto the table and bit angrily into his toast-and-marmite soldiers. “It’s a good job I engaged the services of an advisor.”

“Mrs. Cruet still suing you for breach of contract?” Jasfoup popped the last of his Eggs Florentine into his mouth and dabbed his lips with a napkin.

“She is. I offered her the money back but she refused.”

“I can’t say that I blame her. You are in the wrong.”

“How do you work that out? I sold her a self-help book. It wasn’t my fault if it didn’t help her.”

“I remember the incident, Harold. You distinctly said: ‘There you go, Mrs. Cruet. You’ll have a gigolo at your feet in no time’.”

“It was an expression, that’s all. Humour. Mrs. Cruet is in her eighties. I thought she was buying ‘How to Get a Boyfriend’ for her daughter.”

“She wasn’t, though. It’s all your fault.” Jasfoup finished his tea and put the mug down.

“I can see you’d be a hostile witness,” said Harold. “I’ll make sure my barista doesn’t call you to the stand.”

“Your barista?” Jasfoup smiled. “Make sure he doesn’t. I’ll have a latté at my table.”

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