A Shortened Piece ( of essay)

My new life needs to be in an old fashioned apartment, quaint, with shutters, like one you would find in Paris, or inside an etched building in NYC. Where my shoes will lay abandoned near the front door, street noise will filter about the walls, and my apartment will be so hot, that the backless sundress I am wearing makes suggestion of the curve of my silhouette, as the sweat has all but the halter tie at my neck clinging to my flesh. How it will then start, over dinner, at a secluded hole in the wall restaurant, where the brick and mortar stairway leads one down to a basement garden bar. The noise of the street above, hydrangeas dancing near the windows. The chef, the waiters, the diners, will all speak in and out across the tables, across me, as I drink another glass of wine, before setting my eyes at the view at the opposite end of the bar. The smell of garlic fused with herbs and white wine will reach my nostrils, as wine travels the length of my lips. Watching him, his legs no longer able to set properly, as he shifts his weight, bearing slightly off balance as he makes his way along the length of mahogany wood. My fingernails will rattle on the edge of my glass, as I feel the warmth of his breath behind me. The interlude will begin, introductions exchanged, as presumption will overtake the both of us. Part of me will know for certain that the night will never end. Yes, that is how it will start, on a hot and humid night, over garlic smells and wine, and then he'll leave in the morning and take the metro to work. We will pick up where we last left off, a few varied times a week. Yes, that is how it will start, groping in the dark that leads to my new life, my new apartment, I will be barefoot drinking Spanish wine until I can't remember.