Dark Eye

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Three times I’ve fired my weapon. Three times. Twice because I had to. The third time was optional. But I never plugged anyone for making a pass at me, no matter how tempting it might be. It was a rule. Until that night in early October. When the whole damn mess began.

I really don’t know how it happened. For starters, I looked like hell and I knew it, despite what the guy was saying. It was all bullshit.

“Has anyone ever mentioned that you have a gorgeous pair of eyes?”

“Only my ophthalmologist,” I told the kid in the Polo.

“No, seriously, you do. My mom says I’ve always been an eye man.” He leaned closer. I could smell the whiskey on his breath. “Are they different?”

“Different from… your mom’s?”

“From each other. It’s like… your right eye is darker than the left.”

I nodded. “Cat scratch. When I was five.”

“Well, it works for you. Gives you an exotic aura.”

“If you like that, wait till you see my athlete’s foot.”

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