Free Leaving the Comfort Cafe by Dawn DeAnna Wilson

from Town Hall. The building never got the extreme makeover. Whether it was because the parlor couldn’t shake its previous reputation as a cesspool of sin or if the building was just in such dire need of extensive maintenance, Austin wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that, despite the intensive steam cleaning, the beige carpet could not shed the smell of old cigarettes and a strange odor that reminded Austin of old ketchup.
    The mayor was adamant that arrangements be made for overflow seating for every meeting, but Queen told Austin not to worry about it—the meetings were rarely attended by more than three citizens, including the reporter from the Conyers Clarion.
    The Clarion was the only media outlet that covered Conyers—a weekly newspaper that carried only local news. The larger newspapers didn’t consider it worth the 45-minute trek from Raleigh to cover the mundane politics of a town with a population of only nine thousand.
    Queen warned Austin that that board meetings began at 5:30 and frequently continued until 9:30, and nothing would be accomplished. Aldermen would drone on about the issues, somehow tying the topic to a totally unrelated family event or something they saw on the news yesterday, and in the end saying absolutely nothing. It was merely an effort to create wonderful quotes for the local weekly newspaper, although the local reporter never used them.
    The three town aldermen sat at a long table in the front of the room. Before each meeting, Queen placed the corresponding alderman name plate and left the gavel for the mayor (the mayor actually wanted to take the gavel home with him, but after he failed to return it on several occasions, Queen became the unofficial “keeper of the gavel.”) They sat in the same order, left to right. At far right, Alderman Richfield equated everything to the breakdown of the family unit, though what that had to do with water and sewer rates had yet to be discovered. Alderman Ingram was the only minority on the board and there was so much PC paranoia in the room that everyone agreed with him no matter how ridiculous his ideas. Queen said Ingram did it on purpose, just for kicks and to see how far he could go. It was just a matter of time before he suggested setting up an alien-monitoring network like SETI to search for intelligent life just to watch all the Anglo-Saxon board members nod their heads and struggle to hide their consternation.
    Jane, who sat in the middle, slightly toward the left, was the infamous Bed & Breakfast owner and patron saint of hippies. Her mother’s maiden name was Conyers, but despite the name, neither she nor her relatives had any remote connection to the town’s name. However, she still insisted she was the child of someone, somewhere, whose second cousin founded the town with great General Isaac Conyers, who fought off Sherman on that very ground during the Civil War, praise God and pass the ammunition. But she never mentioned that it was doubtful Sherman ever came through Conyers, and General Isaac Conyers was a relative unknown except among the most OCD of historical scholars, and General Conyers was better known for his hasty retreats than his military strategy.
    Austin knew Blythe was in the building before ever seeing her. He had noticed on the agenda that the Comfort Café would provide a sandwich snack, a treat Queen said was necessary to ensure that board members arrived on time. Austin had assumed that, given Blythe’s recent generosity treating folks to dessert at the mayor’s expense, the Comfort Café would have sent a different employee, but he felt her presence the same way you sense an impending thunderstorm by the hint of electricity in the air. He faintly heard her awkward gait coming down the hallway. She scuttled into the room pushing a stainless steel tray full of sandwiches, neatly placed beside labels to distinguish between turkey, club and chicken salad. She seemed to take special pleasure in looking at the