Wynn

Symmetry and perfection were abhorrent to Anne. Especially in regards to teeth.

Wynn had the kind of teeth she liked. Close together, partially overlapping. Not glaringly white or straightly braced. Teeth that gnawed delicious food and drank red wine and smoked cigarettes and lived life.

He appeared.

She put on a languid look and pretended not to notice him deciding whether or not to speak to her. Finally, she eased his apprehension with a shift of her gaze...and they were talking.

He stood with his elegant arm draped over the motorcycle helmet that was resting on his hip. His skin was covered in graceful colors and cursive scrawl that she wanted to examine with her fingers and her eyes.

Her mind traveled up the stairs to his apartment...

There, his sweet dog was sleeping. His bed was a clean and made. Anne was showered and finally moist with coolness rather than heat. The stark, white blankness of her back looked beautiful juxtaposed with his tattooed skin. She balanced on her elbows and took his palm between her hands. She pressed her thumbs into the fleshy center until his fingers curled around hers.

* * *

Out on the street, the stars were not visible through the trees. Anne watched a 6th floor light turn on and off.