Thursday, February 8, 2018

The Right Shoe and the Left shoe


The Right Shoe and the Left Shoe


From PJH's Stoop:
I had tried for the better part of an hour to avoid her gaze and goo-goo eyes. I was at a bar in Roanoke, Virginia and this guy from north Paterson, New Jersey was a fish out of water. She winked, waved, and tried everything to get my attention. Finally, she slipped off the bar stool and hit the floor with a thud and she plowed toward me.

Oh, no.

Her hairstyle went straight up in great swirling layers and I was sure that the blades of one of the ceiling fans might capture the outer layers of her hair and wrap her up like a corkscrew. She had ten eyelashes, I assumed that one was her own and the other nine were backups in case of a sudden gust of wind. This chick had enough makeup on that, her entire face would melt in the sun. Her breasts looked like the leftover balloons from my birthday party when I was nine years of age. It must have taken a few tugs with a sink plunger on her butt in order for her to fit in her dungarees. If she sneezed, half the population of Roanoke would perish in the blast.

With a smile on her face, the blessed arrival finally occurred, “Hiya, there, good looking. I reckon that I want to know where a gorgeous hunk of man like ya’ll are, been hiding all of my life?”

Without hesitation, I said, “From you.”



“Here, Paulie, this is in case you become bored later on,” she said in a voice just above a whisper. I watched in silence as she wrote a phone number on a scrap of paper and then with a smile, she gracefully tucked the paper into my shirt pocket.

She reached up and gently cupped my face with one hand and with a coy and seductive smile on her face; she secured the note into its hiding place, with a gentle double-tap upon my pocket. I looked up at her and scanned her beautiful face, her golden smile, and full lips touched by a hint of red lipstick. My eyes caught her deep brown eyes with hints of the sunshine glistening off them and she blinked rather shyly at me. I then focused upon her brown hair with red highlights while it tumbled over her shoulders, and the gentle breeze blew a few wisps of hair blew in front of her face.

Without further hesitation, I smiled at her and said, “I have to admit that right now, I am remarkably bored.”

I am a writer of fiction. . . .

On the other hand,

Cheerio for now

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