1.
"I'm sorry, what?" I said, my head poking out from beneath a booth in the dining room. Looking up at her in her long, auburn hair, with the sunlight pouring in through the drapes, with the visibility of the rays amplified from the cigarette smoke and shining down on her, she looked absolutely divine.
Her eyebrow nervously creeping up her forehead, she spoke it again through her tender lips, as she had said it before, only now with even more hesitation: "some customers have been complaining the roof is... leaking."
I just stared at her a minute. "It's not raining," I said, and then after a moment. "Where's the leak?"
She chewed on the side of her lip. "Right outside the front door."
Hotter than hell outside, I looked up at the roof curiously for a moment, sweat already stinging my eyes. "I don't get it."
She nodded her head in agreement, and then, after a pause, shook her head in synch with my profound confusion. Hands on her hips, her tight, white button-down shirt little more than a second layer of skin, one wanted more than anything for it to rain. But it hadn't rained in months here.
I flicked my cheap, plastic lighter and let the flame kiss the end of the cigarette in my mouth, blowing out a stream of smoke. I pointed to the roof, with the two fingers scissoring my Marlboro. "I bet you anything its some neighborhood kids up there with squirt guns."
"I don't know," she said, stealing my cigarette and taking a drag for herself. I looked at her kind of shocked, but I liked the little bond we were sharing here. I hardly noticed I was staring at her, and that she was noticing it with some embarrassment she was trying to conceal, until an old lady with a hairnet and a purse bigger than her skull came strolling buy, walking towards the entrance. Just then, a thin stream of water came down and shot her straight on top of the head. Hands flapping, she stepped back, squealing.
"Dude," some mentally-challenged teenager said behind the old lady, pointing up to the roof with his mouth agape, and his face contorted into an expression of absolute disgust. "Eeew, man, trouser snake."
Both me and Tess looked at each other as if to say, no way, but then the old lady seemed to confirm our suspicions. Pointing up to the roof with a menacing finger, she growled, "that bastard up there just pissed on me."
"I'm sorry, what?" I said, my head poking out from beneath a booth in the dining room. Looking up at her in her long, auburn hair, with the sunlight pouring in through the drapes, with the visibility of the rays amplified from the cigarette smoke and shining down on her, she looked absolutely divine.
Her eyebrow nervously creeping up her forehead, she spoke it again through her tender lips, as she had said it before, only now with even more hesitation: "some customers have been complaining the roof is... leaking."
I just stared at her a minute. "It's not raining," I said, and then after a moment. "Where's the leak?"
She chewed on the side of her lip. "Right outside the front door."
Hotter than hell outside, I looked up at the roof curiously for a moment, sweat already stinging my eyes. "I don't get it."
She nodded her head in agreement, and then, after a pause, shook her head in synch with my profound confusion. Hands on her hips, her tight, white button-down shirt little more than a second layer of skin, one wanted more than anything for it to rain. But it hadn't rained in months here.
I flicked my cheap, plastic lighter and let the flame kiss the end of the cigarette in my mouth, blowing out a stream of smoke. I pointed to the roof, with the two fingers scissoring my Marlboro. "I bet you anything its some neighborhood kids up there with squirt guns."
"I don't know," she said, stealing my cigarette and taking a drag for herself. I looked at her kind of shocked, but I liked the little bond we were sharing here. I hardly noticed I was staring at her, and that she was noticing it with some embarrassment she was trying to conceal, until an old lady with a hairnet and a purse bigger than her skull came strolling buy, walking towards the entrance. Just then, a thin stream of water came down and shot her straight on top of the head. Hands flapping, she stepped back, squealing.
"Dude," some mentally-challenged teenager said behind the old lady, pointing up to the roof with his mouth agape, and his face contorted into an expression of absolute disgust. "Eeew, man, trouser snake."
Both me and Tess looked at each other as if to say, no way, but then the old lady seemed to confirm our suspicions. Pointing up to the roof with a menacing finger, she growled, "that bastard up there just pissed on me."
