Type of Short Story: Flash Fiction
I forget what that woman looked like--
but I have not forgotten the look she gave me -- a look like magic.
A cigarette dangled precariously from the corner of your mouth -- I snatched it away to smoke it myself as I watched the city turn around trying to find from where your voice wafted. No one thought to look up . . . Except for her.
As she pulled her bike onto the sidewalk beneath us, her gaze met mine through the bars of the fire escape -- and like she was fully aware of all the love we were in, she smiled at me, as you, unaware, strummed your guitar furiously.
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