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.”