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Leaning against the battered barroom paneling, you grip that bottle of Guinness like it’s all you’ve got in this world. I don’t know who you are, or where you’re from, but these things I do know: the intensity in your dark eyes, the flawless curve of your bottom lip, the sexy stubble shadowing your chin. Removing your baseball hat, you run long, tanned fingers through untamed hair, your gaze searing everything it touches. Do I dare make the first move? Are you worth the risk? I open my mouth to speak—but too late. You’re already out the door.

 

 

 

Lori Cramer writes fiction of various lengths, from Twitter fiction to novels, but her favorite length is 100 words. Her work has appeared in Boston Literary Magazine, Postcard Shorts, Pudding Magazine, Seven by Twenty, and the 11th Annual Writer’s Digest Short Short Story Competition Collection. She lives in Central Pennsylvania. Twitter: @LCramer29.

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