aoife

Updating again for no particular reason.

I'll be back to regularly-scheduled interestingness at some point.

who'm I kidding? I'm effing boring. off to the coffee shop again to write, and read, and think, and caffeinate.

here's a bit of what I've been writing.

Jack's had plenty of gorgeous girls. Gorgeous is fucking boring. He eases off his stool and weaves across the dance floor, past his date, who tries to freeze him out, turns her back and makes it easier on him.

He breathes in as he passes the girl, the blonde in blue, with the pastel tattoos up and down her arms, breathes her in and smells clean sweat and gin, nothing chemical or fake but plain girlsmell. He moves past, into the bathroom, reaching into his pocket for the bag of fairy dust. . .

He emerges, eyes wider, motion slower, and leans against the wall. He can see that Eva's on his barstool, and Colin seems to have taken him up on his offer, the tattooed left hand--the one that reads "pain" sliding up underneath her black miniskirt.

A pale blur next to him moves, and as his eyes slowly focus, she asks, "When you're done staring, would you mind getting me another drink?"

He looks down at her, speechless for the moment.

"Unless," she says, leaning in, "I can have some of what you're having."

"Sure," he stumbles, digging in his brain for his cool--he'd had it when he walked in the door, Eva on his arm, maybe he'd left it in the bathroom.

She grabs his hand, winks. "Come into the ladies' room," she laughs, her eyes dancing. "It's got a door that locks."


can you tell my favorite film genre is noir?