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It can't be, it just can't be...

It can't be, it just can't be...

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing9m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Mon, Jul 4, 2016
WpInfo
Fiction
Mystery
As I sit on the park bench in Central Park, busy thinking about life and seeing the rushing train speed into the tunnel, I see some woman sitting in the last compartment waving at me and I gasp. "It can't be, it just can't be...?"
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Hallelujah, hallelujah, my Smartphone's tone erupted Handel's Messiah like a fanfare to the doomed. I was greeted by the mother and father of headaches, well no one to blame but myself. I swore under my breath profanely, with imagination, apathetically opening my eyes. Rolling over I expected to see the outline of Holly but was confronted with an empty space where only hours before she'd reposed, kind of. At least her attractive perfume still lingered on the dented pillow. She wanted tips from an 'old timer', not sure if I like that term but I obviously fell into that category, in her eyes, I let it pass. I'm a sucker for tall red headed woman with expressive eyes. We'd met at a wine bar then moved to another and another and, well, you join the dots. I WOULD VALUE READERS CONTRUCTIVE FEEDBACK !

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