150 words #9
The man we meet on the beach tonight talks longer than most.
When he turns to face me I get a hint of his afternoon. Riesling probably, or perhaps moselle.
First he asks us about our dog (the obligatory, ‘Is he an oodle?’) then tells about his, the two he has, the three that died. He points to other dogs along the beach, tells us their names and where they live.
‘Where do you live?’ he asks.
I let the dog pull me further down the beach, but my love never takes such hints. He stays and talks. Answers questions, asks his own.
The sun is about to set, the breeze is getting cold, back to work tomorrow.
I call, ‘We have to go.’
My love looks surprised and as we walk away I say, ‘God, he would never let you leave.’
My lover says, ‘He just likes to talk.’