Late on the night of August the second he arrived at Memphis on Main. This was not a typically crowded night at the bar. Tuesday’s bring the pool leagues and bikers to the pizzeria next door.
He’s very pleased to enjoy the vacancy of his bar tonight. The things he needs to do are best done in solitude. She is here again. Appearing about an hour ago, she walked straight to the restroom.
The door swung open chiming the bell and alerting him to her presence. With his back to the door he was wiping layers of dust off the display bottles shelved on the wall alongside the tv.
Turning towards the unexpected sound, he sent a whisky bottle crashing to the ground. On a busy night, this sound would go unnoticed. This is not a busy night.
The sound crashes through the hum of the empty bar like a bull through a china shop. She jumps so high at her entrance’s interruption, her dress flows upwards slightly and she nearly topples when her feet are reacquainted with the floor.
She braces herself with the door as he blindly steps over the broken glass towards the bar. He doesn’t run to her aid, just to the edge of the bar. Frankly, he’s just plain scared of her.
The dress is olive green against her bronze skin. Dipped in a deep V on both sides, it hangs off of her like two triangles connecting to a flow of fabric. Her freckled chest and back exposed as much as her long slender arms and legs.
Long brown hair is wrapped over her shoulder, framing her face in a dark glow. He watches as she steadies herself. She looks up and locks eyes with him for a moment. Thats about the time she stumbles her way to the can.
Glass shards clank together as he sweeps them into the dust pan. He stayed perched at the bar for a while. After thirty minutes had passed with no sign of her, he decided to clean up his mess.