The short clicks on the pavement. A flick of blonde swirl over the shoulder. Quick tugs on an ever fleeting mini skirt. The typical look of a city girl, the look everyone knows by heart, though only few know from personal experience. One short glace at this city specimen warrants a further look, an in depth visual vacation from the average image of the woman found in my bed every night. She carries a cup of coffee and a small brown sack. Lunch, assuming. Her heals add height to her fragile frame. Dominating pants suit. No ring. Good sign. But no advancement is made in terms of phone number exchange, no casual chat leading to casual sex. She walks by without a word, face forward. But the mind, the mind wanders long after she passes into the crowd of other city dwellers. Her smell lingers.
Questions flood the circuits of my brain. Where is she going? What is she going to do when she gets there? Does she work in an office? One on the top floor with a view? That smell. It's so distinct, but unnecessary. I continue thinking. How does her laugh sound? Is she ticklish? What does she do for fun? Does she come from money? Of course she does. She carries herself well. Is she good in bed? She's probably good in bed. Money will do a lot to make you good in bed. Her looks say it all. No getting past the gauntlet of assumptions. I know her already. One pass and I know her. There's no need to go any further.
I didn't want to know the truth when I found out. I thought I knew her. I gave into superficial sound and deceptive visuals. She drew me into her world of fast clicks and coffee slurps. The brown bag lunch. The blonde ambition. Her hurried step. A newspaper headline flashes onto my television the night after our encounter. 'A young woman was found dead in the Montgomery hotel late last night. A paper bag of needles along with a coffee cup full of tea and arsenic was also found at the scene.'� I thought I knew her. All I knew, the only trace of her I could depend on, was her smell. The awkward mix of cheapened sweet flowers and sweat. That distinctive smell I dismissed immediately. The only truth I knew. 'Did you know this girl?'� My wife saw me enthralled with the news story. Only by smell.

Want to comment on this Flash Fiction? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Flash Fiction and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...