Untitled

Little untitled draft.

From the moment he laid eyes on her he was ruined. He watched her as she held a Dunhill International cigarette between her jaws. She eyed him like he was meat on a hook. I should have told him to leave there and then but she had her tallons gripped into him already. He was consumed with lust. She looked like she had been crafted from stone. He looked at her like he was viewing fine art. It was as if someone had breathed life into a sculpture and thrown a mink coat on it, like viewing a Bernini sculpture, features so intricately cut from marble yet the warmest gaze.

The boy before her said nothing so she read his face. She had many faces herself. She spent her life pretending to be other people, for six hours a day she would step into someone else’s skin in front of a camera, then she would put on a new mask on the way home. She was never quite sure of who she was without pretence.
I had known her for an eternity but this young boy was walking in blind. He saw what he wanted to see. He saw a good time girl with the loudest laugh in the room. He saw her expensive coat. He saw her dripping in gold. I could answer why she wrapped her fur around herself further, why she smoked each cigarette down to the very end, why she gazed at the phone behind the bar and why she tipped her head back when she laughed. This was never about me, this was between them.