The Bar

It was the kind of bar you don’t expect to meet up with a lady in. Hazy smoke drifted lazily among the broken ceiling fans, whiskey straight was the most common order, and trucker hats and flannel were the main fashion choice, though not the kind worn by recent college grads.

Yet, there she sat, calmly sipping at a beer, oversized sunglasses perched high on her impeccable nose. Her long, black hair spilled like a raven waterfall over her shoulders and down her back, leading the eye to her taut frame and slender legs.

She continued to peruse the menu, disinterestedly looking at the grease-filled choices.

“I could go for some sandwiches”, I said, snapping her to attention.
She smiled broadly, her eyes still hidden behind those giant sunglasses.
“Two, please”, I said to the bartender who took a lingering look at her before setting to preparing our food.

“Have you been here long?” A shake of the head. I smiled and she looked at my terrible fashion before giggling softly, touching my hand, and smiled.

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