The Needles
There was a light glaze of rain across the cobbles, and the wind was brisk enough to make the masts rattle like the bells of a doll's church. In the darkness and the sporadic light of the hostelries, the reflections bounced across the pavement, and cut romantic reflections down the main street. It was the typical autumnal scene of an English seaside town: empty, quaint, melancholic. There was a sense of something warm and promising, but it lived in someone else's home, or someone else's heart.
The Cutter was busy for a Wednesday night, the crew of a racing yacht having moored in the day, and a great gaggle of sailors propping up the bar, warmly dressed, rosy faced and talking and laughing at that slightly higher volume of a round or two having passed. The Cutter was a traditional pub with an L-shaped bar, around which only the smallest of gatherings could fit comfortably. A busy night found people seemingly overlapping, chairs awkwardly intertwined, and a natural heat and warmth generated only by bodies. To the far right of the bar, in front of an alcoved room, stood a women of indeterminate 30 something age, her hair shoulder length and slightly bleached as is common for seaside residents of some years. She was by herself, leaning against the wall, with a look on her face that suggested something between the contentment of a strong drink, and the resignation of the lonely trapped in a boisterous crowd. She had entered the pub before the masses did, and had been enveloped by the sailors and the moths drawn to their light.
It was difficult to say if she was beautiful, but she had a warm face, her lips seemed to curl ed into the slightest of smiles at all times, even when she was being jostled carelessly by passers by, or being marooned into the further corner of the bar by the revellers. There was undoubtedly a homeliness about her hazel eyes, the plumpness of her cheeks, and the generosity of her curves. The longer she stayed in the bar, the less likely it became that she could escape the attentions of a flushed drinker, wondering how he might extend his night beyond the closing hours of the Cutter.
