Re: Outside: Clementine & Rudy
Wasps. Bees didn't bother you, if you didn't bother them. Wasps would sting to sting. Her summer smile was stinger pulling from skin. Rudy exhaled smoke, not looking over at the woman as she spoke by his side.—Getting a drink was sounding better and better, the closer the bar got—the louder, the riper. It'd help dull the world a little bit, and the man looked forward to that. Right now, it was jagged with clarity, rich with glacier wormwood and baby's-breath. Even all that Southern softness felt too sharp.
When her arm looped through his, the man did stiffen some, but it didn't stick. He was uncomfortable and anyone looking could tell, the close cull of his shoulder-blades, but he didn't pull away.
"You don't want me to answer that." Wry and dry. He held the door open for her. The Mean-Eyed Cat looked bright from just this side of the threshold, yellows glimmering. Pool balls smacked together. Rudy crushed his cigarette out on the porch where the light limned the night grayish. He followed the woman in, if she went, pulling his arm back to his side.