wielding the average like a torch

The bag holds my history, my past, nestled in nylon.It is a sweet, expensive frappacino that lingers in your mouth, pitted against the cheap coffee that is those fairweather friends.

My feet are on the ground. The air is clear. There outta be a law against civilians going out in public on a day like this. I feel like Snow White, I even check my shoes and hair for stray rodents and birds. I am protected from the big evil green-faced horror thats coming to get me.  New York, here I come. Today I dare myself to actually look people in the eye. I smile.

Scantily clad, busty, brave women line up outside the burlesque club. They are all perfect. Shiny lips. Shiny hair. Just-tall-enough shoes. Just-short-enough shorts.Its the day they hire new performers. I scan them for a hint of fear, anticipation. Are they all sure that they are the most beautiful people on earth?
No. I see one girl. A bit younger than all the rest, a bit less curvy, a few inches shorter. But she has an animal twinkle in her eye that makes me curious. Her tall top hat sits jauntily on the top of her smooth cornsilk hair. She shuffles her feet. I see fear, hunger, a girl with a dream. I approach her. She locks her eyes on me suspiciously.

I bend down and whisper in her ear. "You are invincible."

The End

0 comments about this story Feed