He met her in a bar.

She smelled like cigarettes and strong perfume and the whiskey in her glass, but her voice was soft and her smile was sweet and she was willing.

He took her home that night, made her feel like the only one, and sent her off the next morning with nothing to cling to but his face in her memory.

There was one, once, who smelled like berries and soap. She had a dimple in her left cheek and her hair felt like feathers on his skin. She left the next morning, he hasn’t seen her since. Still, he clings to her face in his memory.

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