Forgetting the crinkled skin, it was enough to sip coffee outside on a windy morning and pretend that the cocoa on one’s cappuccino was sufficient medicine to glut a lifetime of unpaid mortgages and debts to friends. The seductive dust formed its fine layer upon his lips and the next person to kiss him, god forbid, would taste that faint dark chocolate. The cravings sometimes were all-consuming.
“What a beautiful girl you are,” he said, to the waitress who came to collect the empty cup. “Straight out of Connemara.”
Of course, she would not know where even Galway was. She scowled and clucked her tongue like the rest of them. But he liked her freckles. That was it: you could pick out a story from every one.