Synopsis.

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Edited as per your comments/concerns.  Grammatical errors mostly fixed, dialogue changed in the middle, ending completely new.  Enjoy!

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This is a "what if" story that assumes Adolph Hitler had a brother. The brother lived in London as the city was being attacked and decided to escape to Berlin to reunite with Adolph. There were more than a few obstacles to overcome, but Arnold, the brother, was not too bright. He also underestimated the degree of Adolph's insanity.

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This was a writing experiment/excercise. I wanted to see if I could write a story just using dialog. No descriptive words or passages. No "He exclaimed" or "She rubbed her nose and stood up" Just dialog and nothing else. I wanted to see if the reader could develop a view and feel for the characters. Please let me know if I succeeded. 

New Restaurant in Town

 Hello, welcome to Nosey's. Are you ready to order?"

"How come they call this place Nosey's? That's kind of a silly name for a restaurant."

"I don't know. I just started three weeks ago. The food's good, though."

"Yeah, well it should be with a name like that. Who owns this joint?"

"Mr. Probosco, but I heard he's in jail."

"Oh, I get it now. Probosco, proboscis, that means nose."

"Nose?"

"Yeah, you know - nose."

"I still don't get it."

"That's okay. Why is he in jail?"

"I think he was fooling around with one of the waitresses. She was under age. But, now we have a pretty cool manager. Mr. Shirley. He's gay."

"Hmmm, Shirley, huh? More information than I need, I guess. Okay, I'll order now."

"I'm ready."

"Alright - two eggs over easy, sausage, and biscuits and gravy. Oh, and a hot chocolate."

"You got it. Just take this receipt and number and place it on your table. You'll have your food in a minute."

"Hello, sir. My name is Ayeesha. I'm your server. Here's your order. The toast will be out in a minute."

"Toast? And, what's with the hash browns? I didn't order hash browns. I hate ‘em. They're always overcooked and crunchy. Where's my biscuits and gravy?"

"Oh, she must have got it wrong. Just a minute. I'll take it back."

"No, wait a minute. Everything will be cold when I get it back. Just dump the hash browns, and get my biscuits and gravy. The eggs and sausage look okay. By the way, I have a question."

"Yes?"

"How come the toast is always the last thing to come out? Not that I want it, but if I did, I wind up sitting here for five minutes watching my food get cold. Then, the toast comes and most places give you hard butter, so you have to smear it on the toast. By the time it's ready, your breakfast is ruined."

"Well, I guess it's because the server has to do the toast. When she picks up the order, she puts the toast in and carries the rest of the stuff to the customer. Then, she goes back to get the toast and sometimes it takes a while for it to be done."

"Yeah, and then she probably has to B.S. with the cook for a while, forgetting the poor bastard who's waiting to eat his cold eggs. What a system."

"Well, anyway, I'll go get your biscuits. But, I noticed that your receipt says ‘one number 5 breakfast, toast, and hot chocolate'. You could have ordered a number 7. Oh, but then, you'd have to tell them no hash browns. Oh, well."

"Jesus Christ! Now, I'm supposed to learn your menu system? It's like a friggin Chinese puzzle. And, by the way, I'm a senior - if you didn't notice. Where's my discount?"

"You're a senior?"

"YES! For Christ's sake, I'm seventy-one friggin years old. Can't you tell? Do I look like Brad Pitt?"

"Oooh, he's dreamy. I really like him, and Angelina, too. They are one cool couple - always going to Africa and having babies and stuff."
"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THE SONOFABITCH. I JUST WANT MY GODDAMN BREAKFAST."

"Excuse me, sir. I'm Mr. Shirley, the manager. We can't have that kind of language and yelling in here. I'll have to ask you to leave."

"LEAVE? YOU LITTLE FAG PRICK. GET OUT OF MY FACE AND GO BACK AND FONDLE THE COOK. I WANT MY FUCKING BREAKFAST."

"Okay, buddy. I've heard enough. I'm officer Carlton and you're under arrest. Put your hands behind your back, slowly. Do you have any weapons or drugs on your person?"

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The Reception

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The late September mid-day sun warmed the mountain air that the Tehachapi wind fought to cool. Julianna sat on the tightly compacted granite paddock using the blood bay gelding's front legs as a backrest. Her hands lay in her lap, fingers and palms discolored by the oil and dirt picked up minutes earlier while running her hands across the horse's coat.

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