On his way to the bar his eyes met hers.
If she were a ray of light shining casually across the book case,
she would have rested at Murakami.
Her vague smile must have had a magnetic attraction
because suddenly he found himself standing next to her.
Before long their hips moved in the same rhythm
and their bliss dripped from their faces in the form of sweat.
For minutes they were alone for hours
and only when the Cuban musicians played their last chord
they slowly came to their senses.
===========================
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