Member-only story
Hundo | Hardboiled | Breakfast | Noir
Breakfast Thoughts
The room was spare. He had simple tastes, and he didn’t want more. She sat at a small wooden table nursing her coffee next to a narrow window, open to allow some movement in the small room.
He scratched at two days growth of beard, stretched and poured his own coffee from the pot on the counter. He liked it black.
He walked to the stove, checking the gas and lighting the burner. He set a small cast iron skillet over the flame and asked, “how do you like your eggs, baby?”
“Hardboiled,” she shot back… “just like my men.”
Thanks for reading. This turned out to be a really fun passage to write. I’ve always been a fan of a hardboiled detective story, and it was great to try my hand as the style of prose rife within them.
Please highlight any line that speaks to you, drop me a comment to tell my anything you’d like to say to me, and clap to show your appreciation.
