Mr. Shire tipped his hat to the pretty lady sitting at the booth two booths ahead on the left side of his.
Mr. Shire was alone. The pretty lady was among friends and they were all dressed well in fancy attire that gave them all an appearance of being upper crusty. Mr. Shire was crusty indeed in his ratty tweed jacket with leather patches on the sleeves to help keep them from wearing out so easily at the elbows. The leather patches were starting to come unstitched.
The pretty lady had purplish hair – gray that had been tinted just enough to have that color sheen like the elder ladies of the 50s might have had blue hair. Her eyes almost matched. Her eyes were almost as violet and she was almost as pretty as Liz. At least Mr. Shire thought so.
She seemed just a little bit Bohemian — like she might be just a little more fun than her a-little-more-sophisticated-looking friends.
The pretty lady’s eyes met Mr. Shire’s as he tipped his hat and they twinkled a little, he thought, as they looked at him.
“Hello there stranger. I think I’d like to get to know you. You look quite dapper in you own kind of scraggly way.” Mr. Shire thought the pretty lady said. She was probably just mouthing “Hello,” as she tipped her head back to him as if to say, Thank you for tipping your hat to me.
Mr. Shire had just come in and the ladies were there when he entered. He hadn’t noticed them until he sat down but because the pretty lady was facing him, he couldn’t help but eventually notice her and then he just wanted to stare. Now he was trying to figure out a way to introduce himself. The hat tipping was just a start. He imagined that the pretty lady thought of herself as pretty. How could she not? Mr. Shire had never been a pretty lady so he couldn’t possibly know if it was all a facade or not. It was highly unlikely because it was pretty clear that she had some self respect.
…possibly to be continued…
practice, practice, practice
Writing Spool 