Every now and then, I challenge myself to write a short story.

When you find yourself blocked, go out. Soak in life. Stories are everywhere:

“THE KISS”

There was something about the two of them that caught my eye while we were seated. Perhaps it was his tight plaid shirt, casually unbuttoned over his unnaturally hairless torso. Or, perhaps it was her equally tight shirt with its plunging view of her rich, orange décolletage. Either way, it was obvious that they met while redeeming their Groupons during a BOGO tattoo special. The fire had begun.

After placing my order, I noticed that he had moved to her side of their shared bench seating. The longing between them was deep and as palpable as the aroma of stale bacon grease that surrounded me. I stared, mesmerized as their mouths met, and their tongues began to search each other’s throat for a stray tonsil. They stayed that way, locked, as united as a ramora to a ray. This was love, as deep as in any Hallmark movie.

I glanced away, as I was momentarily interrupted by the presentation of my Bob’s Big Broasted Special. My gaze returned to them, only to discover that tragedy had struck – he had left his seat in search of a urinal cake to defile, while she, alone, was tasked with mourning his absence. Her grief was as deep as the pile of paper napkins that she used to quell her tears.

I glanced down again, as the lure of mashed potatoes with country gravy clamored for my attention; however, after savoring a hot, salty mouthful, I noticed he had returned. But, alas, the booths on either side of them had become occupied, and in an act of sheer strength, he had steeled his ardor, and returned to his seat opposite from her.

But all was not lost. Within two bites of mashers, he had returned to her side, his masculinity close to eruption as he returned his probing of her esophagus, interrupted on several occasions by the vibration of his i-Phone; with each intrusion, he would deftly send his caller into the endless oblivion of voicemail.

I shuddered at the thought of their love; it was as rich as the chicken thigh that lay before me. But as quickly as I devoured my meal, they were gone, the phantom of their his/her perfumes offering a bittersweet note to their encounter.

It was only after our check was paid, and we had ambled towards our car that I realized the utter depth of their love, for there they were – he standing in front of her car, she, on the hood, straddling him, grinding away as his I-Phone rang, a shrill, inconsolable note, this hot summer’s night on Riverside Drive.

‘Twas a sight to behold.

***

Now, go write.

HRH, Princess Scribe