I remember entering the Villa with no particular agenda, which is just about 'any' time I patron this establishment. Sometimes just being alone in quasi-solitude can do wonders charging your battery, one doesn't need to have an agenda. Hey, who's kidding whom. At my age 'agendas' are as simple as soliciting a passer-by for information on a lost 'pet' Chihuahua from a droll snapshot of a sign on a tree. Yep, life for me is as banal as banal can get, yet nonetheless, remains interesting. Hmmm...sounds oxymoronic?? Okay, okay let's get on with it. A stool was available next to the video-game kiosk adjacent to the waitress station; I belly up to the bar, have a seat, order my drink; the Modus Operandi here. The execution is simple, the results definable. Kind of wish the workday would be so effective. The only external interruption of note was a soulful rendition of ‘Stairway to Heaven’ playing rather mutely in the background.
The bar clientele was rather ‘light’ this night. Not unusual, after all it was a Wednesday. Even so, there were at least a couple of women at the bar and a couple of guys talking sports and other inane subject matter. None of which interested me to a point of wanting to join the discussion. I do, however, remember vividly the well-dressed, attractive woman at the end of the bar just short of exit ‘stage left’. Yep, right by the fire-exit sign. Not sure why the sign is of any consequence to this antidotal recollection of the evening, but it is. My mind wanders almost inexplicably at times, pardon moi. I noticed as well, she was in a very contemplative mood; easily observed by her quiet demeanor. Sometimes one can't help but become intrinsically involved in the 'people watching' game; intrigued with the psychology behind it all. What I find indisputably addictive is that when it comes to people watching or human communications; however it manifests itself, it's almost universally interpretable. I remember enjoying watching the whole process of this particular lady at the end of the bar inhaling and exhaling on her cigarette, blowing those cathartic, poetic swirls of smoke with her chest rising and falling like a metronome keeping beat to the music. It was as if she was making love to the process, savoring the cigarette’s aroma and manipulating it between her fingers as if she was suggestively fingering a man’s genital region. She definitely gave out the message of defiance, daring and excitement. "Eroticism in cigarette smoking", I'm thinking? Probably.
As much as I would have loved to have made conversation with her, I abstained from walking over and introducing myself. She looked damn nice, and like a damn nice vase, one puts it on the shelf to be admired. She was as she is, beautiful, alluring, and in a sultry quiet way, mysterious. ‘Sex’, raw and unbridled, emanated from her, at least for me it did. I remember thinking to myself not to interrupt her karma. To do so would only break the vase. Some things are just left to be alone. Take in the beauty of the moment and archive it in the memory banks. By the time I finished my 2nd beer, she left. 'People watching' for me, this night, went out the door with her.
C’ya next week, folks!
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