The Regular
|
|
He�d be a womanizer
|
if he were better
|
looking.
|
|
He orders another one straight-up,
|
and grabs the coarse rope necklace
|
of the waitress, skirting her way around the bar,
|
|
�did you make that?�
|
slips out between his teeth.
|
He grazes her freckled
|
|
shoulder and sneers up
|
at her round young
|
eyes.
|
|
His gold rimmed glasses
|
betray his age
|
and his meaty throat undulates
|
|
as he reveals distasteful
|
intent.
|
Another silkskin arm passes
|
|
and he lunges from the vinyl booth
|
squeaking under him,
|
�you enjoying yourself tonight?�
|
|
He is.
|
He always is.
|
|
|
|