the apneatic man wants air/and gasps/and gets some/as he awakens.

his mouthbreathing has made him thirsty./down the hatch some water goes.

now his appetite rears up/and tells him he needs steak and shrimp/at his favorite sports bar & grille./his appetite adds,/furtively,/that it would be nice/if a certain woman were there.

the certain woman IS there./she glances up when he comes in./he sees that his usual seat at the bar is vacant/and he strolls over and takes it.

he and the woman/have always sat at opposite sides of the bar/and have never exchanged words.

now, though, they look at each other./across a distance of twelve feet or so/they share the fact/of awareness of the other’s existence.

the restrooms are on his side of the bar./as she passes him on the way to the ladies’/he summons enormous courage/and gives her another glance/and says a casual “hey.”

after she is done in the ladies’/she gives him a little grin as she passes/and says mutedly/”hey yourself, cowboy.”

she rejoins her friends and says something/and they glance his way/and one murmurs sotto voce/and they giggle.

his heart flips around a little. he thinks of how/from the moment he awoke/he had needs, for air and then water/and they were quickly met. he is here for sustenance…

and perhaps companionship…

it could happen…

and then his mood is shattered, his hopes are dashed.

she has pulled from her purse (o God no) a pack of cigarettes.

TILT. game over./nothing can ever happen between them.

thankful that the bar lady hadn’t gotten round to him, he quickly exits, squinching his eyes to the still-high sun.