By M. Mileson
“If you give me a dollar,” he says, “I’ll give you a kiss.”
His laughter rings true — the echo of an honest joke, sincere and triumphant. His smile casts a shadow on my heart. I laugh and smile back, desperate for nonchalance, hiding behind freeze-dried joy. We are caught in a momentary silence.
She strides in, dyed hair hanging limp around her face, sharp raccoon eyes glaring, jeans too tight for her too skinny body, thin cherry lips pressed into a coy, calculated smile. She draws him away, leaving me with my icy confessions.
I have a dollar in my pocket.
One sincere man, two women with calculated smiles, makes for an interesting triangle. You’re good. I’ll kiss you for fifty cents.