Monday, November 3, 2008


She was already there. She was perched on her chair with her legs angled away as if at any time she might slip from the table and out onto the street. She seemed unsettled despite the novel pressed open on the table. the coffee half drunk. There was lipstick on her cup and her mouth was a red pout in a thick face. She was unlovely. It was unkind of Evan to think it, but this was the first thing he thought. She was the kind of girl who would blossom in internet chat rooms or on the phone. She was plump, but not in that cute fleshy way that some girls were plump. Her extra flesh seemed like a jumper in summer, too full and suffocating. Her face, which might have been pretty, was a thing hidden in a mess of chins and big hair. The lipstick saved her lips from dissapearing entirely amongst fat cheeks and a dimpled chin.

She knew it probably. Any girl who could sit at a cafe with such little conviction had a sense of herself and the judgements of those around her.

She was sharp and funny. He had to remind himself of this or he would have hovered in the doorway for a while before turning around and walking off into the city. She was clever and made him laugh and knew all his secrets. He took a breath and stepped into the caffe. He was flooded by the scent of burnt coffee, grease on a hotplate, someones too-strong perfume.

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