"Why do I even try?" she thought as she gulped half a glass of cold kalimotxo, it was her ritual to drink a glass or three after work, usually by a window or in a roof so she could stare at those unfigurable faces and their circus-like nature. As she was lingering on this question she looked down a block through the market tents at a young bum and recognized his unmovable yet chaotic gaze, was it the wrinkles next to his eye? or the angle of his eyebrows? it was as though people burning inside his eyeballs were trying to get out, whatever combination of variables working to make that astonishingly hopeless, slightly resented look was mesmerizing. Not realizing she was being slowly absorbed by it she kept sipping her glass and framing the picture.
The next day, as she arose from the hangover, she strapped up her sword and boots, fetched her parrot-eating lizard and kicked through a couple of rummys lying in the staris of the shabby hostel, escaping from that haunting look she had seen the day before...but she had the choice of being a good-for-nothing pirate, you don't.
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| Or do you? |
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