City of IF

[Dean]

Note: This thread is not actually a single linear story. In fact, there will not actually be any full stories told within this thread.

Instead of telling a story, this thread will contain a series of setting descriptions. Each setting description will be independent of all others. A short mini-story may or may not be included with the setting description, but the focus will always be on the setting and not the story.

I wanted to post a thread like this purely for writing practice, with the added benefit of reader feedback and critique. It is also an excellent way to get the creative juices flowing and beat writer's block. Most settings explored within will be completely random, all the better to get creative with.

I also want to invite all other interested writers to post their own setting descriptions in this thread. I think it would be interesting and fun if many IFians gathered here to practice their setting-writing skills. So, feel free to join me!

I have posted a thread in the Critique Corner, for critiques on all setting descriptions. Fables I earn in the Critique Corner will be awarded to reviewers, and settings will be rewritten taking critiques into account. If other IFians post settings in this thread, they will be responsible for rewarding critiques of their own settings.

Enjoy!

[Dean]

Setting #1: Franz’s Chicago French-Hebrew Delicatessen

The door to Franz’s Chicago French-Hebrew Delicatessen swung open, a myriad of sight, sound and scent tumbling forth to meet Gustav’s senses. Deli meats of all sizes, textures, flavors, and colors hung drying from hooks above the counter and around the perimeter of the room, and lay waiting for purchase in long display cabinet, mingled among an even wider variety of pungent cheeses. Mugs of good strong coffee sat atop every table, and warmed the hands of those who leaned against the far wall, waiting to be seated. Chatter filled the room in a cacophonous mixture of French, Hebrew, and the unmistakable Chicago accent. People of all ages and walks of life had converged to meet acquaintances over lunch, in this most cosmopolitan of restaurants. Gustav smiled and stepped inside.

The doormat was wet, and puddles of melting snow marred the floor before him. The cold air from outside caused one last puff of steam as the door swung closed. Gustav stomped his feet and clapped his hands to warm them, then unzipped his thick coat. He did not try to eavesdrop on any of the conversation around him, for he could understand none of them. He was a foreigner, and everyone was foreign to him, in language and in culture.

No matter, he was hungry.