A damn good waffle

Tony couldn’t wait to get to the Brazen Waffle. The sketches were hot and he had to move them quick. There was only one place to sell “Americana” artwork, the Brazen. Tony looked like a field mouse dodging hawks. The risk was 70/30 and not in his favor. Tony may have looked scared but he was rather comfortable in his chosen profession. He spent years building his customer base. He matched client with location. From the low rent to the 1% he knew where his clients were whenever he had product to move. This was country art and Tony was able to pick it up without notice and walk away. Without notice? Maybe. He saw a face. Someone who seemed to acknowledge what he had done. He saw the face and didn’t see it again. He was spooked.

Tony realized his turn was right now and almost skidded into the gravel parking lot of the Brazen Waffle. His clients would be there plus it’s time for a damn good waffle. The parking lot filled with dust and most of it followed him into the restaurant. With the sketches under his arm he found a seat. “I’ll have a pomegranate smoothie and an order of your extra crispy waffles.” The waitress turned away mumbling “I’ll be right back.” At the breakfast bar George turned to acknowledge Tony and eye the sketches. George invited himself over and asked to look at the drawings. George was the client Tony wanted to see. Tony told him about the famous American artist who made these available at a very reasonable price. Five hundred each. George fancied himself an art collector. He bought most of the art Tony brought in. He did make a pretty decent profit when he resold them. The waffles arrived and Tony handed George the drawings. George was very excited to see the art. Drawings of the wilderness, farms and quaint street views. George was satisfied and ready to pay when a hand landed on Tony’s shoulder. Tony swallowed hard, still a damn good waffle. The face of the artist leaned in from behind Tony and said, “They’re six hundred each.”

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