Despite the rain, he leaned nonchalantly against a lamp post. A fedora tilted low over one brow. Wearing a London Fog, the color of dusk.
A halo of light surrounds him. It transforms everything it touches. The raindrops now glisten, like diamonds on my windshield. The ambient glow of the street lamp- becomes the low hung harvest moon.
I know I shouldn’t, but I pull up alongside him. I am just about to ask him if he’d like to get in out of the rain, when slowly, just his eyes turn toward me.
“Hey Sister, can I trouble you for a light?”
“I think I have one right here.” I fumble for the words, as I draw a lighter from my handbag. “Here. Try this.”
I feel the callus of his palm as it brushes lightly against my fingertips. The lighter changes hands. He lights his cigarette. Takes a long drag, expels it, and for a moment, he is one with the fog.
“Nice girl like you shouldn’t be out talking to strangers on lonely, dark nights in the rain.”
“What makes you so sure I’m a nice girl?”
A stifled grin quivers across his lips, as the smile in his eyes grows wider.
“You wouldn’t have pulled over to invite me in out of the rain if you weren’t.”
“Offer still stand?”
This little vignette incorporates the three phrases provided by the OLWG #23. The phrases were:
1. Diamonds on my windshield
2. Try this
3. I think I have one right here