Fiction
Woman at the Bar
I thought it was going to be a normal day, never imagining it would be the day my world turned upside down. The humidity was thick enough to swim in, but I love Florida’s weather, even the unrelenting summer heat.
So I didn’t mind the short sweaty walk from my old house through two blocks of sand and sticky burrs to Jimmy’s, nor the still air and often broken AC in the bar.
Like I said, this was just an ordinary day, until I opened the faded red wood doors of the old pub.
Jimmy was there, of course, behind the bar and a few salty regulars sat at the far end, while other nearly deads played pool in the room off to the side.
My usual stool was empty but, for the first time, there was a beautiful young woman seated on the stool right next to mine. When I tell you she was beautiful, it doesn’t quite touch it. Everything about her screamed woman, every aspect of her was perfectly placed, except perhaps her eyes. Though stunning, unusually large, green with orange specks, spaced perhaps a bit too far apart, they seemed mismatched on this otherwise coordinated assemblage of face and body.
As I sat down on my stool; she turned and said with a smile. “I’m Jennifer”
