Damien
* * * She always arrived late. Never before two in the morning. The streets were already empty, except for stray cats and jazz echoes that escaped the decadent bars. He watched her from afar for weeks - from the marble counter spent of La Brume, a bar that only the misfits of jacket knew. She entered as if she belonged to the place, but with an elegant disinterest that made it clear: she didn't belong anywhere. That night, she was silent than usual. He wore the same wool coat that hugged his body as a fog, and the same lipstick that challenged the darkness of the environment. He sat in the background, asked Absinthe-always Absinto-and lit a cigarette with a silver lighter. He was about to get up, perhaps finally perform when he saw a man. Alt, poorly cut suit, smell of threat. He approached her with the boldness of those who confuse silence with weakness. She didn't react. Just stared. A cold look enough to cut glass. But the man insisted .....
About Damien
* * * She always arrived late. Never before two in the morning. The streets were already empty, except for stray cats and jazz echoes that escaped the decadent bars. He watched her from afar for weeks - from the marble counter spent of La Brume, a bar that only the misfits of jacket knew. She entered as if she belonged to the place, but with a...Read more