"So, we still up for drinks?" Jimmy looked at the dejected trio with a fraternity boy excitement only Jimmy could have.
"Yeah," Frohike said, grabbing his jacket. "Why not." They all could use a stiff drink after the news of a lost comrade. He was SPYGUY52, a long-time subscriber to their rag. SO the four of them loaded up into the van and took off to their favorite dark corner of Baltimore, Happy's Hacienda, a Mexican themed bar and grill. They got there and took a seat in a booth at the back. The waitress was off that night, so Langly got up to order their drinks on food at the bar. Beyers decided to use the mens room at this time. Just as their order was rung up, the front doors swung open.
A woman stepped in, a beam of light streaming after her and time seemed to slow. She was of slight height with a track star physique. Thin, but strong, built for speed. Her hair was long, halfway down her back, stick straight and black as night. Langly couldn't help but compare her to Yves, but only for a moment or two. He found himself comparing every woman to Yves, because she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met. But here, there was little comparison. This woman was not as curvy as Yves, she had pale skin and everything about her seemed to radiate with a sexy glow. She had narrow hips and legs up to here despite her overall shortness. She took her red, white and black striped leather jacket off and hung it on a hook behind the door. As she did so, she revealed a few surprises. She wore a reddish tank top with NIRVANA spread over the light curves of her chest. On her right shoulder blade was a tattoo of a thorny rose vine wrapped around a gnarled cross. Her left arm bore a barcode strip all the way around, just below the bump of her shoulder and just above the well toned swell of her bicep. At the small of her back peeked out two intertwined snakes in a caduceus. A "tramp stamp" Langly thought, then immediately rebuked himself for it. Hers was placed higher up than that. She turned back again and faced the bar, flicking her hair over her shoulder in a very Cher move. The jeans she had on were bleach spotted and torn in strategic places but her army boots were shiny as could be. He looked to her face. She had porcelain features, like a painted doll. Pencil perfect and equally thin eyebrows, red upturned mouth, flawless skin. Her red aviators prevented him from seeing her eyes, but he could imagine endless brown wells like Yves'. Something about this woman was so familiar to him. Familiar yet foreign at the same time. She took off the glasses and he saw the flash of her eyes. Clear, icy blue. An impossible cerulean blue haloed by fine long lashes. Then it struck him. Just as Langly took in a breath to speak, a voice beat him to the punch.