“Me?” She said with a half-smile, looking slightly askance.
“Well?”
“I don’t much care for politics.” Her lips moist, poised to kiss, to draw the breath out of their victim, sweet poisoned nectar…
“…but, don’t you understand?” I protested. “The whole damn world is… Well here! Read this and tell me what you make of it.” I offered her the book.
She looked away, reached for her martini.
Her blond hair softly danced in the dim lounge light, glistening with umber sparkle, spreading droplets of perfume suspended in rhythmic beats and melancholy melodies, like crystal scents reflecting childhood memories…
I reached out to touch her bare shoulder graced by a thin black strap, but she had already returned to meet my gaze.
She brought the martini to her lips, all the while holding my stare. She savored the drama of a languid blink, depriving me momentarily, only to beckon deeper. I could see myself reflected in her aqua eyes imprisoned behind her mascaraed lashes.
“I don’t give a damn about 1984, or Fahrenheit 451, or Oskar or your lucid delicious conspiracies. I know all about them Alex. The world is careening and you pontificate. Grow up! Drink and die, that’s the best you can hope for…” She offered me her glass.
-IAT
