French Film - Fiction


 

Maybe it was the way he held his book in front of his face. Or perhaps, it was because he slurped his coffee. Whatever it was, she knew she had to talk with him before she left the cafe. She watched him as he continued to read while ignoring everything going on around him. Every time he raised the cup to his lips, she imagined what his lips felt like against hers. Every time he licked his finger to turn the page, she wondered if preferred the company of books over the company of women. Her eyes widened as he set the book down; it was now or never. She slowly got up from her chair and made her way toward him, her eyes never leaving his face. He watched her approach as he picked up his book, only to set it down again. When she reached his table, she said - you remind me of a French film. He glanced around, then focused on her again as he smiled. He pointed at the empty chair next to him and she sat down, then pulled out his journal and wrote - I read lips rather well and I love Elevator to the Gallows. 

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