The Grey-Eyed Girl 1

     A fingernail painted glossy, robin’s egg blue tapped the mouse and it was done. The meeting was set; she added some lines from Milton.

"With winged expedition

Swift as the lightning glance he executes

His errand on the wicked, who, surprised,

Lose their defense, distracted and amazed."  (Lines 1277-86)

     Fingernails painted black gripped the handle of the bookstore door and the grey-eyed girl spotted Samson immediately. Samson, the irony of the name was lost on him, not a strand on his furrowed dome.  What he lacked on his head he made up for with hair growing greasy black and thick on the back of his paw like hands, knuckles, and escaping from his shirt collar swallowing up a gold chain and patriarchal cross.

     Samson thought himself something of a poet; he reveled in disbursing his rhymed cliches at coffee houses and bookstore readings the audience always to timid and Samson to menacing for any critiques to be made.   Finding him was easy.  He had a Facebook page devoted to his frothy amateur poetry along with pictures of himself enjoying baklava and other desserts.  Arranging the meeting was easy. She friended him using the name Chanteuse_23 and after holding back her vomit commented on how much she liked his poetry. Samson invited her to come and hear him read, she showed up late to miss his performance. There was no way in hell she could listen too it. That would literally make the grey-eyed girl sick.

     There he was sitting hunched and straddling a backward chair while a tall, ornithological looking women read in a think French accent from the podium.