A 100 word story


Her hand is warm, her skin soft.

She shrugs her shoulder, her hair dances.

Over my shoulder, I hear violins shredding the night.

“Not tonight,” she says, is that okay?”

“Of course,’ I lied, knowing tomorrow will never come.

“Thanks for your time; I appreciated it.”

“I did too. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” she smiles, pulls away, turns with a swish, and wriggle.

I note she’s wearing sandals, Birkenstocks maybe.

She’s classy, a woman who takes care of herself.

“We manicure toes as well,” I call out as she leaves the salon.

“I know,” she says,… “Bye.”

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