babamike
She was still. He wasn't. And they could not reach across the chasm to connect. She tried to be like him, a spinning maelstrom of raw energy but it was not in her nature. So she withdrew and beckoned to him. He was like electric energy in the humid night air and as he rose and moved closer, she could smell the sweat and stale cigar smoke emanating from his three-days-unwashed t-shirt.
Her hair was auburn, I think. I'm not even sure what auburn is, really. Brown? Brown with blonde streaks? Something else? And while we're discussing hair, what is "ash", exactly? This is one of the things I admire about women: that they have been given such high expectations by society that they must know the secret code of words like auburn and ash and nail files and all the little knickknacks you find in the cosmetics aisle in CVS. Women of the world, I applaud you!