She blew in like a quiet storm; each step hurried but hesitant as if calculating her next. Her lanky frame seemed to droop like a weeping-willow as she shifted past. Suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks. Instinctively I turned toward her as she studied me over like a wounded, stray cat sensing a kind stranger. Our eyes met and I got a glimpse into hell. She was sophisticated but undone as the night's spirits danced on the tip of her tongue. Baby blue eyes set evenly faceted, deep and desperate; complimenting aging fair skin and conservative bleach blond hair. A white blouse and delicate necklace fashioned her neck. Holding handbag under elbow; long, bony fingers bent over the burlap. I sensed a lost soul and prepared to show my moral compass....I too have been down that dark alley. Unabashed the lady looked at me square. Her rich fiancé cheats - a narcissistic whore fat on pride…his version of love…a dish served cold. “…told me he will continue his affair...he’s probably with her now, she lamented...but loves me first and wants to marry me…should I…we’re engaged to be married?” I blinked and like a hush all to be heard was the rush of tap water from the nearby faucet; as a lone third party hunched over the sink, coyly washing her hands trying to mimic irrelevance [in contrast] though listening intently as I began to speak. I happened to see the lady after leaving the restaurant that night. I sat at the red light watching her ghostly figure cross the busy intersection. She was heading back to her hotel.
Cliché.