Angel

She has sweeping red hair, with strands of natural blackness appearing once in a while. Big round eyes, drawn around blue contacts she purchased in HK last summer. She talks with a bright clear tone, almost like Kermit the frog, but softer — with a slow weighty laugh that could lull the ocean to sleep.

In the café, she crosses her legs — and I feel the hooves of a thousand bulls stomping across my chest. Blinking her eyes, she smiles at me — and I feel like I’m being pulled up by 4 heavenly creatures — up up and away.

That or maybe it’s the tall cup of Americano I just gulped down. Hot, steamy, still rising up my esophagus from my stomach — straight to my head. A damp layer of sweat begins to form around my temples. I wipe my palms on my skinny jeans and take a nervous sip from my empty cup.