Priscilla was standing head up to the café counter in front of her. The pungent smell of coffee was refreshing. She needed to try something new, every new month or so. While browsing through the menu displayed overhead, her attention was caught by a man. The customer in front of her turned slowly to face her. Staggered, she troubled her mind with thoughts the look on her face could tell: “Why is he looking at me? Did I put on too much perfume? Does my makeup look funny?”
The gentleman with a black handbag drooping over his right arm introduced himself to her. They talked for a while and I could sense the awkwardness from their interaction, then they sat on the seat, next to the window. She was drinking the coffee he got her, a black spice latte. I felt uncomfortable watching them, watching her with another one. She suddenly got up, headed to the washroom, and displayed her galore outfit — a black fur top paired with a short slim-black skirt. She knew how to present herself, a full meal course she is, I thought.
Following her was the poignant song of her black heels caressing the floor. What a melody… Meanwhile, the intruder kept eyeing her down while displaying perverse smirks towards her. I blatantly hit the…
