Second Love

Drowning in booze was no way to go out. Yet here I was in a fancy hotel bar in New York City, flirting with the bartender when she walks up wearing a black sequined yet elegant dress and bright red lipstick. Those big brown eyes and fake eyelashes called out to me.

She asked me what’s wrong. I shrugged. Somehow, someway, she got me to open up. I poured out my soul to her in her New York City loft. There might have been sex. And there might have been champagne. But it was the beginning of my second love.