The fossil somehow managed to dodder his way into a booth. Margot’s approach confirmed her suspicion that the fetid stench arose from the cheek-sucking old invalid.
“What can I get you, hon?”
“Tea.” His palsied hands trembled as he placed a large copper coin on the table. “Please.”
“Buddy, do you need a doctor?”
He met her gaze directly for the first time. “I am furious, not ill. I would have you pilloried for such scandalous attire, exposing so much…” He indicated her skirted server uniform with a gesture, “Limb.”
“Just what century do you think this is, Bub?”
He paled. “That might be the fundamental question, I fear.”
110 words, for this week’s Microcosms (Judge/Truch Stop/Sci-Fi).