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So she realizes, finishing her drink, that women have all the control in times like these, moments like these with men like Jesse. They meet at her local dive bar and when she makes eyes with him, he blows her a raspberry. Jesse sticks his tongue out at her a few hours ago, and this is why she feels intrigue, she thinks, to be here with him now. He says, I think we’re going to have a good night. A stranger in a motel room. She can see his vulnerability like bio luminescence or smelling smoke and she rises in careful slowness, polite and graceful, happy with his story. She dons her revealing black dress and her delicate figure and strong strands of slender, back muscles like skinny rope or twine. Trying to remain unveiled and slender and she takes his drink away like an absent lover like as if playing hard to get, hard to comprehend. She walks to the wooden liquor bar and pours out from the same bottle of whiskey, as if being filmed, finishing its contents. All gone. She says.
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