Monday, September 04, 2006

And, oh, she has a lisp.

She is eating her ice cream from a tall glass tube with a long silver spoon. No, the spoon itself is actually very small, it is the handle that is long and enables her to dig deep into the glass, delicately turning it by the curved blue handle. She digs through the mint for the chocolate. Scooping out dark brown chunks covered in green saliva.

Absorbed in digging and absent-minded she swings her right leg. Toes up and down as leg sways. Tic. Toc. A pendulum of flesh dangling from beneath her green pleated skirt. Thick, maybe wool, and shouldn’t she be sweating? That’s what the ice cream is for. It is a hot day. The sidewalks are steaming and the citizens are melting one by one, still clutching their warm iced teas.

Fleshy calf losing its rhythm and joining the other leg, foot resting on the bar that supports the weight she is imposing on the narrow stool. She is spilling over the edges of the seat.
She is in the corner, letting go of her waist. Rounding and stretching the fabric of her white shirt. Linen. Testing the strength of the buttons with her breasts. Pulling her hair from its ponytail one strand at a time.

She is letting go in the corner. She is moving in.

She has licked away most of her lipstick. It used to be a pink that wasn’t quite whorish, but still teased. Now, she can’t stop rolling her bottom lip in, gently biting away the dead skin.
And when she turns to look out the window at the crooked intersection that joins three one-way streets I can see that her neck is long. A sleek, elegant line from her jaw to her shoulder. And the way she poses, she knows that this is what should be noted about her. Should be written down and memorized. Should be highlighted and slipped into the pocket of a wallet.

The ice cream is gone. The spoon is clean. The cloudy glass is pushed to the other edge of the counter to make room for her pocketbook, brown and square. She removes a wrinkled dollar and smoothes the bill by rubbing it over the edge of the counter. Slides a corner of it under the glass. Takes her index finger and rubs away a stray drip of mint that was making its way to the dirty green paper. Takes that finger and holds it in her mouth. Tasting the combination of salty skin and smooth, creamy mint.

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