A dull pencil is greater than the sharpest memory. - an English proverb
Her eyes are a pretty shade of steel-gray.
That’s the one recurring thought I have as I stand, face partially obscured by shadows, scoping out my next target from across the street.
After a moment, I turn away. Rule one of what I do: don’t get attached.
Bracing myself, I leave my relative anonymity and cross the street. Already I can see the all-too-familiar colorful strands rising off her- blue, mostly, and some black. An odd combination.
But, hey, this from the weirdest guy in the universe.
“Hi.” I drop onto the bench a couple feet away from her.
“Whatever it is, I’m not interested.” Those silvery eyes glint with immediate annoyance.
Interest piqued, I flash a cool, confident grin. Or, more accurately, what I hope resembles a cool, confident grin. “Hey, look, sweetheart, I just-” My gaze lands on a tattoo of a spade on her neck, cutting me off abruptly.
I curse inwardly.
This is going to be harder than I thought.