|Amar En Meleth|
The guy dressed in black, black eyeliner, black nail polish, black moon tattooed on his cheek.
"Metrics," he said.
I didn't understand what metrics had to do with the tattoo.
"Measures of quantitative assessment," he said.
I had questions.
The fireplace in the gazebo illuminated the cracked pavement.
"Beautiful," he said.
For a moment, I thought he meant me. I looked frantically in all directions, assessing my quantitative measures of evasion.
He meant the moon.
This wasn't going well, I had to admit.
Did he even notice I was there? Cracked pavement... Beautiful... More like a cracked brain, in black.
100 Word Stories