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First she notices the nice shape of his ass, clad in carefully distressed denim, and promising agility and muscle, something worth grabbing onto.

He is standing with a man of his age at the counter, paying, and she wonders as she often does when seeing two attractive men together whether they are a gay couple. Hard to tell. They are laughing with each other, casual, but they could be simply friends. In which case, they would be horrified that the cute woman walking by thought they were gay.

As she passes, a tantilizing whiff of cologne pivots her head towards him. His driver's license is tucked into his wallet upside down. Careless or deliberately private? she debates.

There's so much she'll never find out about him. She pushes through the door and out onto the street, him never the wiser, and these words the only aspect of him that she will retain.

Suspended

Below the green white surges of the sea, the mermaid trails her fingers through the crystal waters, giving off bubbles like sparks. The delicate silvery bubbles amuse her; they cling to her skin and shimmer against her silver tail like sequins. She finds herself spinning around and through the waters, creating ever larger streams of bubbles that she plunges through for more decoration.

Her laugh is the silver sound of bells, hung from a red ribbon in a doorway. Her movements are not swimming nor dancing, but an effortless floating ripple, motion like sunbeams pouring through the waves.

No reason exists for such happiness. It simply is. Without time, without care, the mermaid weaves her bubbled tapestry of joy.