He looks at me from across the counter, his eyes drooping. A bushy mustache hides his lips, and his cheeks and chin are dark with stubble. A thin, white cigarette hangs languidly from his mouth, its ash dangling, ready to fall. The thin smoke swirls about his unmoving face. I smile and wave. He blinks. The cool morning air which had followed me in is stifled by the stench of the place. His eyes are empty, sleepy from his night’s work. Mine are clear, my mind made clear by sleepless nights and a dream, made clear by a fatal choice.
Drabble Series: My Fatal Choice
Tale Told 