She had imagined he would come out from around that counter and sweep her away with that half a grin on his face, but reality was more awkward than that. She’d come in everyday to buy her cigarettes and ask him silly questions just to see that grin. Even with that red work shirt, he was handsome. So many men his age were, but it was that wrinkle against his cheek. And his piercing eyes. She touched his hand when she took her change. She said, “Tell me, are you free Friday night?” He smiled his silly smile and winked.
Published by The.Richard.Braxton
Richard Braxton is a writer struggling with his inner poet. He has fought the poetic urge most of his life, but lately, he has fallen prey to this lifestyle. And the world is the worse for it. View all posts by The.Richard.Braxton