I felt her eyes on me, sometime through my third beer.
I’d registered her long dark hair, dusky skin, and round eyes. Everything else was obscured by blue smoke.
And she had registered that I was alone, and on my way to pawning my lungs and liver with the devil – probably in exchange for an antidote to loneliness.
I watched her snuggle up to the young man sitting next to her.
She was so young.
My husband then walked into the bistro, straight to our table, kissed my forehead, and sat to my left.
I stubbed my cigarette.
Her eyes met mine. She smiled, and nodded slightly.
I smiled back.
For Pudge, and Helmet. Entirely different reasons.