From Across the Bar

"You're a handsome gentleman," she cooed to me from across the corner of the dim smoky bar. "What's your name?"

"Mary," I replied. She had long dark hair and was wearing a sleeveless black dress.

"Oh," she said and stirred her drink, looking away toward the pool tables. The hypotenuse between us wisped away with the smoke, no longer a solid line connecting our two points with side A and side B of the wooden bar triangle. She wasn't down with dykes.