The Usual Table
This would have been their usual meeting place. A table in the far corner of the room, secluded from the wafting cigar smoke and the boisterous laughter every now and then gurgling from the throat of some large man making a joke. There would be the soft clink of glasses and tableware as they enjoyed an avocado cocktail filled with tiny pink shrimp and creamy mayonnaise. They would order wine and smile at each other as the vine juice stained their lips with a sparkle of wetness. She would see that smile covered with Viva Glam lipstick; so red, so bright under the dim thus intimate restaurant lights, spreading wide across her face. Every now and then she would taste those Viva Glam lips across the table, and it had felt to her like fire, fire engine red, a burst of flames consuming her tongue, saliva, and wine-stained lips; lipstick the taste of caramel popcorn.The table is now smaller, more cluttered, with the usual apple green table cloth and avocado cocktail taking up her eating space along with the usual glass of red wine; her lone body toasting no one in particular. The clink of glasses and tableware is not so subtle, but more sharp than usual, and the avocado cocktail is easier to eat, as she stuffs her mouth with the green fruit and tiny pink shrimp covered in heavy, thick mayonnaise. She wipes her mouth and lipstick stains the table napkin.
The usual table is secluded, intimate, away from prying eyes, away from anyone that might recognize her and wonder why she is alone on such a fine evening out. She feels a new kind of intimacy as she stares at her reflection in the glass pane across her table and smiles as she thinks about those Viva Glam lips and the taste of caramel popcorn on such a fine evening out.
9:06 PM | |
