June 14, 2010
She knew him. She'd seen him before, with his golden sax and his gleaming smile. He had scruffy blonde hair that fell in waves to his jaw, and a glowing cigarette often hung from his lips. His hands were also, too often, clutching a half-empty green bottle, with some dark, foul-smelling spirit. But he sat on the step on the corner of the street, with his jazz suit or trench coat, and played for his beer money. Sometimes he caught her eye and winked. But never before had he approached her. Never before, with his dark dark eyes.