by Shane Graber

Walks right up, pulls it from the paper bag. Moves fluidly and
deliberately, like new shag carpeting.
She grabs my wrist, leads my hand right to its white cotton pocket, if
you can believe. I withdraw a long strip of purple construction paper.
“Her scarf.  Wants you to put it on her. Brrr.”
“Oh. Okay. There you are.”
Good thing no one watches. So forward and all.
“I think she likes you. Name’s Svatlana.”
Svatlana dangles before me for me. Bad timing. Want to avoid
entanglements. But those coal-dark eyes, woodsy cheekbones. I cave.
“Want to get out of here?”
“Out of where?”
“Not you.”
I reach out and take Svatlana by something.
“Let’s not ruin this with a lot of talk,” I say.
Uncontrollable nodding. She so gets me.