The GIrl with the Pink Umbrella

Sometimes love is just standing under a pink umbrella.

She stood in front of me in the rain and I shivered. She was beautiful but in the natural way. Not the way that everyone expected: tits, butt, how s****y she dressed. No. It was her eyes that turned me on.

            She was holding a pink umbrella over her as the rain splattered each drop on top of the nylon fabric overhead.

            I lit my cigarette and walked up to her.

            “Dark day,” I said.

            She smiled. She wasn’t much of a talker.

            I pulled out my box of Marlboros and offered her one.

            “Cigarette?” I asked.

            She shook her head.

            “I don’t smoke.”

            I nodded and exhaled.

            “So what are you doing this evening?”

            “Waiting for the bus like you I presume.”

            “Any plans?”

            “Sleep.”

            “I see. Well, by the rate this bus comes, you might be better off sleeping in the gutter.”

            She gave me a small smile.

            “You’re hilarious.”

            I coughed.

            “How long do you think it will take before you die?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “Well, at the sound of that cough, it sounds like a bad one.”

            “You don’t like smokers, do you?”

            “I’d rather have a man who lives after old age.”

            I dropped the cigarette into a puddle.

            “I’ll never smoke again.”

Reviews

[alanwgraham]

Well done Andy. You have a very well observed short story of this chance meeting and conversation here. I like the gentle wit and the humerous finale.
Cheers,
I can identify with what you've written about your writing. I get a real buzz when i feel my writing is going well.
Alan

[Andy Ruffett]

Thanks, man. What would you like me to read of yours?

With writes,

-Andy Ruffett

[alanwgraham]

Cheers Andy, You might like 'the Emporium of dreams', a short story.