I Never

"I said, 'No, I won't.' And he goes, 'Well, I never,' and
storms
out!" Laughing, she puffs smoke rings above her curls and painted
eyebrows. Definitely a Mona, or Myrna.

"You, boy, what would you do?" she shouts, aiming a smoke ring at me.
The bartender escapes.

"About what?" I ask.

"About this guy wanting fake fingernails!" She sucks her cigarette. In
her red mouth it's an arrow that's hit its mark.

I want fingernails, I think, red, smooth, and long.

"I'd've got rid of him," I say too late. Mona, or Myrna, stands, eyeing
the stool next to mine.