The cashier’s eyes are mesmerizing. They’re blue-green, lit from within, and provide an electric shock of colour amidst the black of her hair and white of her skin. Beautiful. I can’t stop looking that them, or her.
The girl with the Aegean eyes brings us our order. As she walks away, F tells me she looked him straight in the eyes and smiled.
“That’s ‘cuz you’re so pretty,” I tease. But I’m not really teasing. My friend is beautiful. Women – cashiers, customers, friends, six year olds, sixty year olds – love him. He loves them back.
“Did you see her eyes?” he asks. “They’re amazing. They look just like yours. That’s what I was looking at when I was looking at you and made you uncomfortable.”