Black_Bird
Not Innocent
- Joined
- Oct 26, 2001
- Posts
- 9,019
She was alone in that trucker's dinner across those railroad tracks just outside of town. All her customers had departed. She was left to brew fresh coffee and wait out those long grave shift hours all by herself. Such was her fate.
The door slowly opened, surprising her. She merely looked up from her day dream and said through gritted her teeth, "Back to work," followed by a chirpy, "What would you like, sir?"
"Coffee, Bacon, Eggs, Toast," he mumbled from beneath his wet trench coat. He was a striking man of thirty some years of age. His grey blue eyes had a saddened look, his leathery skin taunt and tan. He removed his hat from his peppered grey hair and sat at that counter in front of her. She immediately felt a tingle in between her legs; He looked so like her first lover.
"What is your name?" she asked him, in an innocent southern twang.
"Mark," his voice grumbled out. That was her first lover's name. Her knees went weak for a moment, but then she shook her head realizing he didn't sound like her Mark. His voice was sweet, deep, and clear like those cleanest rivers. His was grated and harsh, like whisky poured on a gravel road.
"Is that you, Mary?" he asks, and this time she nearly fell from shock.
"Why, yes, my name is Mary. You wouldn't happen to be... you wouldn't happen to be from around here?"
"Mary, it's me," he said with a smile, "and you haven't changed a bit."
"My god, you look so different!" she said in awe.
"Well, guess ten years of that long road does that to a man."
"Ten years too long. Missed you a lot," she said, with her heart beating up in her throat.
The door slowly opened, surprising her. She merely looked up from her day dream and said through gritted her teeth, "Back to work," followed by a chirpy, "What would you like, sir?"
"Coffee, Bacon, Eggs, Toast," he mumbled from beneath his wet trench coat. He was a striking man of thirty some years of age. His grey blue eyes had a saddened look, his leathery skin taunt and tan. He removed his hat from his peppered grey hair and sat at that counter in front of her. She immediately felt a tingle in between her legs; He looked so like her first lover.
"What is your name?" she asked him, in an innocent southern twang.
"Mark," his voice grumbled out. That was her first lover's name. Her knees went weak for a moment, but then she shook her head realizing he didn't sound like her Mark. His voice was sweet, deep, and clear like those cleanest rivers. His was grated and harsh, like whisky poured on a gravel road.
"Is that you, Mary?" he asks, and this time she nearly fell from shock.
"Why, yes, my name is Mary. You wouldn't happen to be... you wouldn't happen to be from around here?"
"Mary, it's me," he said with a smile, "and you haven't changed a bit."
"My god, you look so different!" she said in awe.
"Well, guess ten years of that long road does that to a man."
"Ten years too long. Missed you a lot," she said, with her heart beating up in her throat.
