The golden sunlight dipped beneath the line of maple trees
just as the car turned towards the pea-graveled driveway. The refurbished
antique streetlights began to slowly emanate a soft light on the stone sidewalk.
Her house was of cottage design, a porch covered in ivy and latticework all the
way to the shuttered windows. It was quaint and idyllic, not too big but still
roomy. She appeared on the white painted porch, closing the turquoise door
behind her. Calling goodbye to the Maine Coon cat, she glided over the crunchy
leaves strewn about the small yard. Reaching the door of the Subaru hatchback,
she entered and nestled into the warmth of the car’s heated leather seats. She
could smell the faint lingering of his favorite air freshener mingling with his
aftershave. He turned to her, dressed business casual from work, his tie
loosened at the knot. They exchanged a sensual yet comfortable embrace, their
bodies aching more for food than pleasure. In the small town of Cookeville,
they now had to decide on the countless corporate restaurants on interstate
drive, full of screaming children and frozen until you order meat and threes.
Or another night on West Side, the small yet fresh menu worn out after
countless times of eating there.
No comments:
Post a Comment