Old Flames

A haggard creature across the bar clutches her G&T with claw-like hands.

The aquiline nose stands out from the sunken skin, triggering a disconcerting recognition.

“It can’t be,” he thinks.

Sensing his gaze, the woman looks over.

The shiny dome where once was hair, the double chin, the beer paunch, are a disturbing parody of the man she’d known.

“Lawrence?”

They’d been passionate lovers a generation ago.

Overcoming mutual revulsion, they chat a while, no chemistry between them now.

The only chemical they have in common is the alcohol anesthetizing them until they go their separate ways into the night.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher