There she stands, in all of her vernal glory. Her beauty brightening up an already well-illuminated evening. Her eyes draw in even the happily married, making them momentarily and silently wistful for the singularity of their youth, once more.
She smiles as she welcomes you and asks for your beverage of choice, her eyes twinkling with a happy sadness that you know comes from her thoughts that she would rather be out doing those things that twenty-something’s do on a Friday night.
She studies your face, as you contemplate the menu on the wall. She plays her little game. The same game she plays with all of them: studying; criticizing; commending.
Choices made, you turn the tables, amazed by how much you can take in and process in a couple of seconds. You like her youthful complexion, but not how her hair looks; her dark, sparkling eyes, but not the slight sneer of her lips . . .
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