Limp

He sat in the corner of the room, unnoticed, as she swept past, her long dark hair flicked over her shoulders. She emanated confidence in the smooth stride of her long tanned legs. Words poured out of her mouth like a song, and he was mesmerized.

He sat there, pushing his glasses up his nose, mustering up his courage to say hello. His palms were sweating profusely in the summer heat; she was still standing as immaculate as ever.

His wobbly white knees dragged him towards her. His tongue tripped over words as he tried to make small talk. She slowly turned around, one hand on her hips, her face a mask of deception. He fidgeted with his hands, wringing them, sure signs of his nervousness. She turned up her nose against him, and walked away, snickering. He stood there for ten minutes, his long greasy hair blowing limply in the air as it rustled past. He left, his body slumped forward, as a dog’s tail falls limply to its side.