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I hadn’t even registered his name, but I did register the scrape of his rough hands against my sensitized skin, and I did register the emptiness in his eyes as he held me close. I’d met him at some bar in Hackney, one of those places that I was often warned against entering, but for some reason- be it fate or just a burning need for a little recklessness- I went in anyway. He occupied the corner seat, right up against the wall. His face was tired, his posture resigned, and I could almost feel. I hated the snow. Snow in London meant slush and slurry, buses mucked up and shops closing when they shouldn't be. Out here nothing seemed changed, I'd never seen my new home town without snow. It wasn't a great start.Every night I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. I had no friends in this shitty little country town, and while I wasn't likely to get any moping around at home, I wasn't really keen on the idea of replacing all my friends. They seemed to have forgotten me easily enough. That. This girl in front of me is pretty perfect. I can’t think of a time I saw more perfect lips. The mouth has always been what I notice first on anyone’s face. Hers was ... kind. Full lips that made a subtle upturn at the side. When she smiled at the busboy, one side of her mouth lifted just a bit higher than the other. Is that ... it’s a dimple on her cheek. Small but definitely there. I can’t see the color of her eyes but I know that they focused on me and lingered for a moment just seconds ago.. They were both laughing as they moved around and my wife's head lowered into his lap. My eyes grew big as it hit me what was going on. I could see the top of her head only from where I was standing as she was leaning between the seats. I watched her brown hair lift up and back down over and over slowly until his hand was place on top of her head. He was looking down at her watching and now and then tossing his head back and wiggling around as my wife bobbed in his lap. Not knowing what to do.
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