Jet black eyes.
Dusk in the village. The air feels fresh, born anew after a series of heavy rains.
She walks down a dimly lit street. Quiet. The bustle of Manhattan in this moment neither seen nor heard.
Messes of vines twist wildly up the blackened brick walls of apartment buildings. Once filled to the brim by those devoid of wealth, yet now wrestled away by a subset of the elite harboring a disdain for the accoutrement and abundance of their circumstance. They seek the gritty, the imperfect, the blue-collar. People are always looking for reasons to set themselves apart from others.
The mind wanders. She’s drawn back to those jet black eyes. Electricity and magnetism. No words. They saw right through her - she felt naked.
Her heart beats faster. A wave of heat crawls up her neck. She averts her gaze. The corners of her lips twitch, threatening to break upward. She looks up.
He was gone.
“An Americano please. Light on the water.”
Life goes on.