Dear lord, he thought, slowly sipping his drink. She’s like an upside down Rauschenberg, except uglier and more convoluted.
She kept talking, her nose pointed up and her finger scratching down her knee.
He wished someone would tell her she was boring. Better yet, that she was stupid.
She had no idea. Intelligence stealthily eluded her conversational skills. She relied solely on ironically placed aphorisms and well intentioned pauses. Her confidence pooled under her tailbone and radiated up her stiff upper back. There may or may not have been a speck of sweat on her upper lip.
She was an animal in his care.
He finished his drink and placed the glass neatly on the cocktail napkin. He raised his finger for the check and signed away too much money on poor conversation.
She was not thin, but she was not fat. Had he been any younger, he would have made sure of it. But he wasn’t, so he folded his billfold into his pocket and quickly walked away.