Honesty Coffee Shop

By Paul Davis

A troubled writer escapes from the fast paced world to a remote location where he meets a young island girl with a mysterious past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781326436391

Paul Davis

Dr. Davis directs a group of scientists who have defined molecular mechanisms for many non-genomic, plasma membrane-initiated actions of thyroid hormone, including actions on plasma membrane ion transporters, intracellular protein trafficking, phosphorylation of nuclear hormone receptors and of p53 and on transcription of specific genes. He has 5 patents issued and 25 US and international applications pending. Dr. Davis is a US Faculty Head in Endocrinology of the Faculty of 1000 Medicine and a member of the Endocrine Society, American Thyroid Association, American Society of Biochemistry and Molecular Biology, American Diabetes Association, American Association for Cancer Research and a Fellow of the American College of Physicians.

Book preview

12

Clouds hung still in the deep blue sky. Their edges were painted in red and faded into pink hues. I could feel a gentile wind arriving in random gusts but otherwise the air was thick with heat. I may have drifted off to sleep, having learned to keep my chest full with my body buoyant in a sort of Zen-breathing practice. Dreaming while awake. Maybe I had reached the astral plane out here, thirty or forty yards from the beach... floating on my back. I closed my eyes and listened to the unreal world of the under water. Such strange muffled bubble sounds that reached my ears. The most prominent was the water that rose and fell against my own body. I drifted there like a tiny boat with no rudder, on a forgotten current.

Something was wrong with my life. It wasn't any one specific element, it was a collection. Together they added up, and I, normally being at peace, found myself exploring ways of removing those forces of stress one by one. Floating away, becoming lost to the sea wouldn't be a horrible ending but I wasn't actually preparing in any way to end my life. I only wanted to ease and detach with precision those items that we have been trained to respond to since birth, those systems that our modern society has trained us to react to.

It was those aspects of that system that weighed on my spirit, or soul if you prefer, and many friends that I was close to did not comprehend my strange need for relief or detachment. There was much resistance when in conversations with them. Nearly all of the discussions ended with me stating that there must be a better way that is not so taxing to my self as to taking away my inner freedom, peace, and contentment of each day. So here I am, thousands of miles away from the properly named rat race. I didn't need to travel this far - but I figured that it was a trial run, so why not explore the limits of remoteness?

flutter in the air

random flight yellow wings. Free

an office window



Opening my eyes, I righted myself, remembering that I left my surfboard unattended on the beach. There were no waves today and the ocean resembled a massive turquoise lake with patches of glass-like stillness. Where I treaded, it felt around twenty-four celsius and below my feet I felt a colder layer but still quite comfortable. I wore only black cotton board shorts that reached to my knees and were decorated with small inch-sized patterns of red Hibiscus.

 I looked across the mirror of water to the white sand beach where my surfboard still lay. Beyond, was a dense cropping of deep green palm trees shading all that was inland.

Far down the white sand shoreline, a lone figure walked from a hut to the water then back again. This figure from this distance was only about five centimeters in size but I could see that it was a girl. She was thin in build and her hair was a bit wavy and reached just past her chin. She wore a plain light blue top that looked somewhat like a '50s style bikini but retro in design with wide straps hanging down her back. She sported a type of gray cargo shorts that hung low on her hips - the pants reaching only halfway down her thighs. Her skin was seemingly tanned slightly to a lighter brown. And on her head was what I believed is called a Biltmore, a tan, straw hat, with a faded green cloth on the inner rim. That hat seemed to suit her, complete her, it somehow made her seem more mature than her likely teen age.

She stopped in mid-stride and looked in my direction, her hands shielding her eyes from the sun. I believe she only spied my