Back Then

Prologue

    It's funny how you assume one thing happened the way it did but ended up completely different than the way you thought it had. The date had read 1950 and around that time booze and drinking became the norm. Car wheels screeched in the murky streets as sirens blared singing their song. Music and clubs blasted their music into the damp streets and sounds of saxophones and bands filled the air. Back then something happened and if I had the chance to stop it I would. Taking a look at the people they all wore black with a slight frown worn on each of their faces as they trotted to and fro throughout the streets. However one woman in particular wore the sort of smirk a thief or murderer would have worn.

    The street was slick with water that the woman had found it almost hard to walk in it, but she seemed to be having no problem. She had stood out from all the rest with her red stiletto heels, her red and white polka dot dress that screamed money, and her brown bobbed hair curled tightly at the ends. You could smell the aroma of sweet nectar as you passed her, but the look on her face made you want to run the other way.

    Car horns and drunken shouts filled the streets. As a black car had pulled close to the sidewalk and woos and whistles filled the air as the drunken men had pulled their heads out of the car and gawked at her beauty. "Yes m'lady", "You don't need to show me where beauty is" is what the men had shouted. They were wearing tan tattered clothes and looked as if it was a long night at the bar for them. They continued to whistle down the street as the lady rolled her eyes at them.

    She kept thinking of the many reasons why she didn't want to kill them, but couldn't think of one. Her fake smile pierced the air and the way she continued forward with a pep in her step would have made you assume she was determined to head somewhere. What with the look on her face she hadn't been heading anywhere, she wasn't heading anywhere just down an endless sidewalk in the city ignoring all the ogles and awes and chirpy gossip from woman that filled the air.

    Some called her devilish, some called her downright hot, and others called her names that were not appropriate for a woman's ears.
She glanced over at each passerby without a second glance.

    However, she came into view of a small group of men each of different ages old and young. They seemed to be taking on a conversation of their own with jokes and "have you read the news?". The woman ignored all of their talk and just stuck her attention to one man in particular who stood out from the rest with his brown fedora, slight stubble on his chin, messed up black hair, and a devilish smile that matched the woman's and put him out of all the rest. As she settled her eyes on him. Her eyes burned into him. He quickly glanced at her, as he continued to joustle with his buddies.

She lightly tapped him on the shoulder as all his buddies turned to look at her, their mouths set in awe at her beauty. She had worn a sinning red lipstick, pink blush that brought out her defined cheeks, a sharp jaw, and the face that looked like an angel. She tipped her hat off her head wiping it off before placing it on her head and batting her eyelashes in mock grace before she had said, " On dirait que tu t'amuses". "Oui, merci pour demandant," he says bowing and dipping his hat in sarcasm that only she would understand.

    All the men had shared looks of pure confusion whispering "What is she saying", "I don't understand". However, only one man was dumb enough to almost likely stage whisper as he asks, "What is she saying".

This man looked particularly worn with the issues of the day as his wrinkles had shown on his forehead. He was a short, stout man dressed in a long brown overcoat, and the graying on his head and what was left of hair on his head made way to believe he was about 40. "Looks like you're all having fun," she answers keeping eye contact with her victim, and he seemed as if she could see right through him. "What's your name," she inquired seeming just as interested in him as herself. "Harold," he squeaks not letting the bile rise into his throat. He takes his hand pounding it up against his chest pretending to cough back his nervousness.