Comment
Eddie
June 16th, 2004
Rain on the wrought iron gate and the slight flutter of air past my ear drubbed up by a sparrow hotly pursuing a June bug between the bars that might offer it safety from you or me.
Jones sat a few seats in front of my table engaged in the wooing of an unsuspecting victim of his seemingly innocuous chatter about New England or Texas or wherever the plump yellow checked sundress had mad its way to here from.
She felt his hot breath, with only the hint of sweet smelling alcohol lying on top of the humidity which relaxed the muscles of her tight nostrils and allowed her to drink in his persuasiveness.
A spotted stray inches to them slinking with his tail down and eyes angled warily up to investigate the table.
The dog's tail wags, not for you, but for your bread.
.
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June 16th, 2004
Eddie