An outdoor patio. Whiskey, Cigarettes. The same scene again, ten years later. More gray hairs, some baby crows feet.
Alone this time. No boisterous exchanges. Just quiet. Watching the crowd. Observing the new crop of faces, with that same vulnerable look that they don’t realize lingers on the soft edges of their young faces. Desiring attention, desiring desire, desiring. Daring. Ready to take a chance, looking for a chance to take. Dousing themselves in alcohol for courage.
Older now, the alcohol served the purpose of flavor more than courage for anything. Comfort, too, perhaps.
Watching the crowd. A sea of unfamiliar faces. Eyes met and turned away from.
One set of eyes flickered with recognition. Still returning to this place, after all this time. Unexpected sightings.
The flood of body memory. Lips, illicit and irresistible, loveless and impossible. And unforgettable.
Whiskey consumed. Cigarette crushed out.
Those lips. Illicit. Irresistible. Indelibly imprinted upon memory. Suddenly present. With eyes flickering with recognition. Waiting. Questioning.
History could repeat. Perhaps history was meant to repeat. Perhaps there would be a different ending this time. Perhaps there would not be an ending.