You know, you talk too much, he smirked.

The third attempt at drawing her attention, and maybe the last if he didn’t get something… a sign.

She airily drew on the bar’s sticky walnut finish. With nothing but a half-broken neon Clydesdale guiding him he couldn’t tell if she was telling him to piss off or coyly writing her number.

Steeling himself, he flashed that fifty dollar grin and tried again.

You know you look exactly like my friend Brittany.

No response.

Brittany Clarke? She’s about your build —

Build? What was he talking about? Maybe he needed another beer. Is that someone behind her that he was talking too? What will move her? Or should he give up?

A surge of emotion shot through his body. Maybe it was a spiritual awakening or maybe it was the four High Lifes, but now he knew what to say.

I’m lonely and I would like to know more about you.

Utter. Deafening. Silence. Then a hasty retreat.

Back at the table the boys demanded a full field report.

She’s deaf, he said hopefully.