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Barroom Prose

Published by bmillard in the blog bmillard's blog. Views: 211

----This is my piece that was locked in the workshop after I was told I hadn't given good enough critiques. I begged to differ but that's not here nor there, so I'll be posting in my blog. Any comments are appreciated.----

At the bar he took up his drink. He tipped it to his mouth, turned, and looked out across the room. Everyone was isolated within groups. He watched how they’d tiptoe on anxious feet when apart from their friends but he was at the bar alone, all to himself.
He looked at the women. They flipped their hair while their bird eyes flickered about the room. He could sense that they were half-wittingly engaged in conversation with their friends. Looking into the crowd, he tried to concentrate his desires onto a particular woman. He looked. Somewhere, he thought, there’s a woman with my kind of magic in this room. He saw her in the far corner under the speakers, and walked over.
‘It’s a parade in here, huh?’ he said.
‘What?’ She tilted her head towards his mouth.
‘This scene.’ he said. ‘It’s all over the place but everyone is so stuck within themselves. It’s crazy, y’know.’
‘Oh,’ she replied, ‘sure, I guess you’re right.’
‘Look there,’ he said, pointing. ‘You see those girls? How they’re stuck to each other waiting for a hungry lion to break into their pack and hunt one down. Now look behind them, the two guys standing there also tied to one another watching the girls and wishing that something called fate would intervene into their night. It’s such an obnoxiously refined game.’
‘Where’s yours?’ she asked.
‘Your ‘pack’.’ she said.
‘Oh, no. I’m not that way. More the ‘lone wolf’ type.’ he smirked.
‘Sure.’ she said. ‘Why me, then?’
‘Because there’s something called fate.’ They laughed together.
Eventually they were able to take a seat at a table. He bought drinks and refills when necessary. Slowly, they learned the little nuances of one another. And at the end of the night he asked to drive her home. She’d answered ‘no’ but he could see the hesitation in her eyes and the way the word awkwardly lingered about her lips.
‘I hope you’re not scared. I wouldn’t take advantage of you.’ he smiled. ‘Okay, I’m lying. I would try for sure. But, I bet you can handle me even if I do.’
‘I better not even try.’ she said.
‘So this is it?’ he asked.
‘Until you call me.’
‘Or until I kiss you.’ he said.
He pulled her close enough to smell the liquor coalescing with her sweat and her perfume. She barely resisted. Her hands grasped his hips. He could feel her warmth against his body. Her lips shimmered wetly. His mouth ached with want as he looked at hers. Her eyes gleamed under the soft light as she waited.
He looked into her eyes and said, ‘If I could tell you a poem about your lips, it would begin like this.’
  • maidahl
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