Walking to a tune. Lost in the snare. Stumble. I crash into her. Coffee now runs down my pants. She apologizes. I tell her not to worry. “Venti Lattes come and go”. 
(She smiles) 
My day just got brighter. “You’ll have to pay for that”.
“Bill me”
‘Michelle Thomas, Accounts Manager’ 
I watch her walk away, she doesn’t turn around. She’s got that swagger, attitude, presence, vibe. The kind that’ll reduce a man to just a play thing, a hand-me-down to be discarded, cast aside with the rest of her childhood mementos, to be picked up once in a while at her whim. You can almost see the feathers falling off her wings, an angel from the darkest depths of hades, swimming in the River Styx unscathed by the hungry souls of men she’s devoured, but every part of me wants her. A Siren in pure daylight, singing her entrancing tune without saying a word. I walk away.
Stems turned to trees, their leaves renewed aplenty, my skin has folded and the Earth is tired of its circles. As fate would have it, here she is sitting across from me. It’s surreal. My blurry eyes see her clear as day, the fading sounds don’t mask her song and passersby can’t distract me. She takes my hand and says she’s sorry. “For what?” There’s that smile again. “Our little accident, 40 years ago.” The slightest idea of what she is talking about escapes me. I look down and there’s an envelope. “Go ahead, open it.” I do. 
‘Starbucks Gift Card, $10’


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