I thought this was a good idea a few days ago.
A friend of a friend, “you’ll like him, he’s a good Dude…”
So, a coffee date.
A date to see if you want to have a real date.
To size each other up over a five-dollar cup.
No pressure, all good, walk away or stay.
But the get ready is the same.
I’m tired and my feet hurt, right now I should be eating
something I’ll regret, and scrolling Netflix for something
that I can lose myself in.
Just for a little while.
Instead, I use the hope for what could be as fuel, work in
the mirror for a bit, re-apply, fuss, get the edge back that
comes out after work.
Coffee date. Not the prom.
But I am the Queen.
Red and black always wins.
There’s psychology at work here. Pure, solid colors for my
clothes, the only shades are over my eyes.
And always with my keys are my mints.
Red and black.
Again.
We’re both “Curiously Strong” and addictive.
Stepping into the hall I feel the hot humid air press against
me, hear my footfalls on the carpet, and unconsciously count
the steps to the elevator.
I hear the bell ding softly and the doors whoosh open.
A thin small woman steps out, raising her arms up in
front of her as she turns to face me.
Our eyes meet but she shows me no expression.
I see dingy light from the ceiling fixture reflecting off a
thick gold band on her finger.
Her hands come together smoothly to grip something
small, her arms level and firm.
A puff of smoke…
No sound.
Red.
Then black…
This story was based on images created by photographer Gabrielle Zink.
Please visit her website at https://glzphotography.com/
