Good Intent

‘You might come here Sunday on a whim.
Say your life broke down. The last good kiss
you had was years ago.’

‘Hey!’ A voice cracks through the silence. She’s stood on a curb, not a street corner. She smiles, but it’s a little too short on either side to be real. ‘What’re you starin’ at?’

‘I’m not sure.’ He replies, calm. The night washes down. The dark is crisp, dirty. He’s sat on a bench, lighting a cigarette. They’re on opposite sides of the street.

‘Well you could pay me for a photograph if you wanna look some more.’ Her voice is high, carrying across the street, over the heads of yellow taxis. His expression falls, but he doesn’t say no, just strikes his match along the side of his matchbook.

‘Could I bet on you even having underwear on under that coat?’ Smoke filters out of his mouth into the air. It dissipates as it rises, and he stares her out. There’s sarcasm dripping from his blue eyes, but there’s also an element of cold hard entitlement. She shivers, pulls the fur closer to her.

‘Aren’t you even going to ask my name first?’ She steps onto the road, crossing over to him. Her heels click on the tarmac.

‘No.’ She reaches his side of the street. Skyscrapers tower over them both. The city doesn’t care.

‘It’s Norma.’ He’s close enough to smell her perfume, but she’s not wearing any. Her face is soft, she looks young. He pushes the thought away.

‘Is it?’ He takes another drag.

‘No.’ She pushes back her curtain of black hair. It curls down into her back; she watches his eyes follow its coil.

He offers her a cigarette and she sits down, carefully crossing one leg over the other. He lights it for her, hand lingering near her mouth, then loosens his grey tie, loosens his morals. She takes a drag and pulls it back, resting it on her bare knee, there’s a kiss of dark lipstick on the end.

The city rushes past them. Even in the night people aren’t slowing down.

‘I don’t have any money on me.’ His blond hair is slicked back. There’s a hotel two blocks down. He’s staying there, but he doesn’t tell her that.

‘You can’t buy me with good intent.’ She laughs.

‘There’s a hole in your pantyhose.’ He throws his cigarette into the road.

‘So?’ She turns to face him, and he thinks that maybe he will tell her about the hotel. She’s not wearing very much make up, if any at all. Her eyes are pale, and her skin looks soft. He pictures himself pushing her up against his hotel door. Ripping the coat off her body. Pulling the pantyhose off with his teeth.

‘So you’re wearing underwear?’

She drops her cigarette, stubbing the end out with the heel of her shoe. He stands up, offering her a hand. She places her arm through the crook of his and smiles. ‘You’ll just have to wait and find out.’