A Love Story

She approached him, dirty and unkempt, stalking the sidewalk like a cougar, night and day.

“How come you never ask for money?”she asked.

He looked at her blankly. The the act of human interaction had been lost to him. He searched his mind through ancient figments. Seconds passed as the street continued on obliviously around them. She stood staring at him unquestioningly, unphased by his grotesqueness. He lifted his toes inside the almost bottomless shoes to feel the gravel. Strange reminders flickered inside him, sensations from memories long lost to the confusion and shame. A wave of lust moved like a frozen tide into his barricaded mind. All he had known for so long from others was fear or obilvion. Of which, this was neither.

“Do you have any?” he asked finally.

“No.” She responded.

He grunted and sucked back on his dirty second hand cigarette. His shock blue eyes were the only clean patch left on such a piece of used up real estate. And he knew it. He just didn't understand why she had come to look at the landscape. 

And as quickly as she came, she turned and walked away.

Sour Spouts

I remember the old man, sitting alone, drinking scotch and milk. I remember thinking, it was a strange combination and wondered what it tasted like. I wondered why he drank it. But more than that, I wondered what he was thinking when he looked at me like that. When he licked his lips like that. The way he called me darlin'. The way he smiled. It made me think. His eyes, the colour of mustard and peas. His skin like a wrinkly plucked chicken, greasy and uneven, except for that big, bloated belly, which waddled from side to side. Sometimes he would watch TV, but mostly he would watch me. Sliding the doors open and shut. Bending down. Standing up. Washing glasses. Pouring cheap, weak beer, from old sour spouts. Hours would pass under the drone of the television and clinking glass. Scrapping off the plates while he sipped his scotch and milk, and watched me. He would talk so quiet, that I would have to lean in close, just to hear him. Just inches between us. I wondered what he thought of then. Most of the men in that small town would look at you, but he was the only one that made me feel that way. Sometimes it's hard to keep your dignity and your paycheque.