by Larry Gibson
Click. Click. The sound filled the room as the seconds ticked off his stopwatch. He touched the cool, glassy surface. As he lifted up his finger he could see the fingerprint he left behind. He felt his heartbeat sync up with the second hand in perfect rhythm, and he could feel each pulse of blood as it raced up his neck.
He stared at the abstract painting. He knew if he rejected it, he would be rejecting her for the last time, but he was done with the abstract and artificial. He saw the flutter of wind before he felt it. Somebody had opened a door and was moving down the hallway. The wisp of wind felt cool against his sweaty blue t-shirt.
The aroma of nicotine entered the room before she did. He looked at her, dressed in a fierce red mini dress, the bottom which was just covering her rear. High stiletto black high heels adorned her feet, making her legs look six feet long. Lean and muscular they were by far her best feature. Slowly his eyes tracked up from the legs past her surgically enhanced breasts to her long, angular face. Not really pretty, but pretty enough. Large lips painted hooker red dramatized the paleness of her face, the smile an artificial snow white. Emerald green eyes bore into him.
“Like the Painting”?
“No, keep it, your time’s up.” He said as he turned and walked away.
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