it was a tuesday night. i come down to the bar for the first time. it was empty. for some reason i remember the smell of the air just before i stepped in, it was sort of that musky, post-rain, bottled beer smell. you smile that half smile from behind the counter, a little flustered and a little nervous, but trying not to show it. you were wiping glasses, or were you cutting up oranges and limes for garnishes? i forget. but that smile i remember so vividly, the colours that exploded in my heart when i saw the little corner of the left side of your lips fold into a smile. “what can i get you?” you made me a pornstar, or was it margarita? either way, it was pink. you did a quick trick with an orange peel and a lighter that made little sparks ignite because of the friction and acid, i suppose. i felt like a little girl at her first magic show. F sauntered into the bar, you nodded an acknowledgement and made conversation. he then asks, “how’s the crowd here?”
“well, we get really pretty girls on tuesdays,” you turned your gaze to me and i felt the heat rise up all the way from my ankles to my ears.
i downed my drink. good god, you do know your stuff.
