A Midwinter Night's Drink
Max needed a date, and a bowl of hot soup. The latter would be easy to acquire, the former not so much. He had spent a long day at sea, plying the farm waters for mussels, black gold he called them, and wanted nothing more than to find a quiet restaurant in which to eat and unwind, preferably while looking out over the night-time surf. The hiss and rumble of crashing waves on shingle threatened to pull Max to sleep before he found his meal, yet before long a soft orange glow from a small restaurant spilled out onto the cobbled street ahead, beckoning Max with the promise of warmth and hot food.
