Under the village tree II

Inside the village tree
Now remember what happens under the village tree? Well that was on warm days. Now that the soggy season is here, our characters had to find shelter for the winter. Which they did. Our barista with a sense of atmosphere, that knits fire gloves and sets exotic flower extravaganza on the round table outside, produced one of his tricks from under his sleeve: He slowly pulled out a packet of his favorite tobacco, which he gets preferably at our local Ish tribe’s trading post, then took a paper that he placed in a perilous situation between his moustaches, and patiently started rolling the tobacco in a dollar bill – I tried this method, thinking that might be the secret to rolling cigarettes that don’t end up looking like a bazooka, to no avail – I suspect that either he has a secret ingredient or hidden device between his fingers, or I have a missing bolt, since I have not, so far, despite numerous attempts, been able to produce anything even remotely looking like a cigarette. However, so with the paper stuck between his lips, and his beret tilted on his head, making him look like a Basque shepherd, he patiently rolled that very special cigarette, then got up with that slow, retired Basque pace, knelt at the foot of the tree and lit the cigarette.
Then he stated blowing the smoke in a little opening in the tree trunk, which caused the village tree to start expanding. Our barista with a sense of atmosphere that knits fire gloves and sets exotic flower extravaganza on the round table outside, kept blowing the smoke inside the trunk, till it grew into a hobbit coffeehouse.
Then each of the regulars that used to hang out under the village tree contributed something to make it cozy for the winter for humans and animals alike: Charity, the creature with the voice of a bird fallen from a tree, whose mission is to tame invasive bamboo trees and attract bees who are persuaded that she’s covered with pollen, brought a couple of lamps; Christa, the other barista, a twiggy creature with doe-like eyes whose long tentacles are forever glued on her cell phone screen, somebody please come and rescue her from this annoying situation, I mean, it’s kind of hard to make coffee with your fingers glued on a cell phone, just try it, that’s a real challenge, man, so Christa brought a few more cushions so we’d feel nice and comfy;
Michelle, the wizard whose house is built around a huge tree, brought some dreams woven with butterflies and hung them inside the village tree; There are also three couches now inside, for the numerous dogs that hang out at the now re-baptized Troy the druid’s hobbit coffeehouse inside the village tree; There is endless supply of dog treats naturally -one has to live up to their standards- , and power cords to plug in the machines that spit out songs and poems, for the barista with a sense of atmosphere has such a daily output now, that one machine isn’t enough to chew, process and regurgitate those poems and songs, especially as Troy the druid also has his own machine that produces songs in Druidic language, which conflicts with the barista with a sense of atmosphere’s machine, that produces songs preferably in the language of Cervantes. So some days you’ll hear, inside Troy the druid’s hobbit coffeehouse inside the village tree, you’ll hear a strange cacophony, that will be the Titans combat, the Celt druids against the Don Quijotes.
Troy the Celt druid will turn his bean roasting machine on, which in turn will, by means of an intricate system of pulleys, trigger the Celt song machine full blast. Needless to say that against that, the barista with a sense of atmosphere, who starts his song machine by turning a handle manually, and has to keep turning it, has no chance in this quixotic pursuit. Especially as he needs to keep serving the precious dark potion with the other hand, and keep blowing the smoke inside the tree, which otherwise would shrink back to its original size.
Where was I? Ah, somebody even brought a giraffe inside the tree. That, I guess, might be a useful means of transportation if the recession isn’t fixed soon, or when the deluge comes.
The great improvement too is the sign; Troy the druid’s hobbit coffeehouse inside the village tree now has several certified bona fide signs, to make sure the hobbits don’t get lost and find their way to their regenerative dark nectar. The installation of those signs hasn’t been a small business, believe me. First there was the positioning, which had to be at a certain precise distance from the village hobbit coffeehouse, to be precise 10.50 mètres. This first odd demand alone gave the druid quite a headache, as he wandered why the code had to use a foreign language. Then the color, shape, size, took months to determine so as to conform to the code. But the worst is yet to come, as the bloody sign tends to have a life of its own and to flip over to “closed” position when it’s supposed to be “open” and vice-versa. Morality, DO NOT trust what you read.