I could hear Sinatra sneaking out from under the door. She looked at me and smiled.
Hey.
She said.
Got a light?
Her cigarette was resting between her lips.
I lit her a match and she closed her eyes as she leaned in for the flame. Her face was a perfect gold at that moment.
Thanks, stranger.
Another smile.
She looked away. Turned towards the moon.
It was bright and clear, and the sky was a very deep purple.
The moon was pink.
She saw it, and she smiled again.
She was flirting with a blushing moon.
"The Lady is a Tramp!"
Said ol' Blue Eyes.
And as I took my last drag, I thought,
"No... The Lady is a flirt."
