To Write, a Must

I stayed at the coffee shop to work on my stories. I particularly like these lines.

“Lina Larrow. Stop your running in the stairs this minute!” Mr. Sleed was flying down the narrow stairs after her, and she stopped so short he soared over her head, pinwheeled to the bottom, crumpling like a crushed house of cards. He lay in a dissatisfied tangle of limbs on the hallway rug.

“Oh, Mr. Sleed!” Lina was by his side in an instant. “Ah’m so sorry.”
            “Phrase of the day,” he hissed.

“Are you a’right?”

“I’m fine. Don’t touch.” He brushed himself off, settling the tie around his neck.

“Mr. Sleed, your shoulder. Ah’m so sorry.”

            “Stop saying that.” He felt along his shoulder seam and came across a gaping rip in the fabric and sighed. “He’ll think this house is run by complete imbeciles."