She walked up to me smelling sweet while I, stank of tomato and meat, and sweat under the scorching sun! "May I have some tomatoes and a kilo of meat," she said to me in a manner depicting a lady of substance.
Her skin was like butter scotch and her hair hung on her shoulders carelessly, nonchalantly...
Her steps, as I had noticed sang of grace and her voice portrayed an aura of confidence.
She was perfect, or so I thought.
"Did you hear me, or are you deaf!" She lashed out, violently lashing me back to awareness, reality.
Awareness of her presence, of her beauty, her grace, her fragrance, her smile and of course her manners.
"I won't sell," I replied simply.
I provoked more insults as she walked away.
She kept raving and ranting but I restrained my temper Oblivious to the growing attraction then I caught a glimmer in her eyes, my heart beat just paused and she caught her breath and we just smiled.
Hate and loved fused.
My dictator father once told me: "Son," he said to me.
"Never trust a lady and her ways- she's as cunny and calculative as a lion, as witty as a fox, so full of spots like the leopard and what's worse, she's as beautiful and sweet as cherry, and all the more desirable.
" Now that's something.
Coming from a dictator that is.
Or what do you think?