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Weekly Contest #37
The sun dies its days death leaving a humid evening in its wake. The air is thick and oppressive heavy on the nose and damp in the mouth. A man sits at a hotel bar, he’s waiting for somebody to arrive. Somebody important. He takes a draw on his cigarette and knocks back the dregs of his bourbon. He signals the bartender for another. His eye catch on a dame in a red dress. All golden hair, curves and legs as far as the eye could see. Damn, she’s a pretty one. Strangely familiar, yet unknown, mysterious and alluring. Her high heels clack on th...
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