The story so far…
It all began, as these stories so often do, with a young woman who smelled of vanilla and a man who didn’t know his left from his right.
“Is anyone sitting here?” she said, indicating any one of the empty seats at his table in the ghostly quiet cafeteria.
He began to sweat.
He glanced at her out of the furthermost corner of his eye. Her orange hair reminded him of the haystacks in a Monet he’d seen as a student.
He could feel her smiling as she opened her carton fo milk. The tips of his ears flushed at the sound of the plastic straw parting her lips. He wondered why she hadn’t seated herself then realized she patiently awaited his reply.
He said, “These seats are all taken.”
She sat down.
And as she lowered herself onto the hard, red plastic chair, that was when the scent of vanilla wafted over him like a splash of cream. The pupils of his sage grey eyes dilated like nostrils flaring. He made a concerted effort not to notice her bustline or to breathe.
Having failed in his first goal, failure in the second became inevitable and he began to hyperventilate.
She said, “It’s the bomb isn’t it?”
* * *
* Mon-Fri, not including the days it doesn’t happen at all.