(Untitled)

[sheila_nagig]

She's dancing and singing, iPod headphones disappearing under an old Yankees shirt, her hair tied at the nape of her neck. She actually looks like she might have been dusting - judging by the cloth and the bottle of furniture polish in her hand - before she arrived.

And it takes her a moment to open her eyes, to look over the bar, and go, "....

Comments

[forge_fire]

There's a man not far down the bar, sipping on... sangria.

What? It's summer. He can deviate from the standard wine and olive combo occasionally.

He gives her a nod and a smile, as if to say that she looked pretty enough as she was.

[sheila_nagig]

"Hey," she manages before she takes a sip. Then, slides slowly down so she's lazing against the bartop. It's comfy. And she's been dusting for about two hours. The woes of mostly-white apartment furniture. "Man, I'm pooped."

[forge_fire]

He raises an eyebrow, as if asking somewhat sarcastically if that was an introduction.

[sheila_nagig]

She rolls her eyes.

"Me Sheila. You Jane."

And grins. Oh, what a grin it is.