Angel 13

He walked through the crowd at the seedy punk-rock joint and as he drew closer I thought he looked a hell of a lot like Kurt Cobain. The girl in front of me had a conversation with him and I noticed him glancing at me; he grooved to the rockabilly band on stage and shot me a grin. Buzzing on a tequila sunrise I grinned back. Ready for a smoke and drawing attention to my mouth I pulled out a cigarette and a book of matches.

Without missing a word of the faceless curly-headed girl with her back to me, he grabbed my matches and struck one to light my smoke. From no where he had a cigarette at his mouth, too, and with another match lit it then handed me back the book, and he nodded to whatever the curly girl said.

In an instant she stepped away and he swung around to my side and put his mouth to my ear and said, "what's goin' on?" I looked sideways at him, then turned my head and smiled.

"It's my first time." I told him

"First time?"

"At CBGB's"

"What do you think?"

"It's a shithole; I love it"

"Did you see the band before this?"

"Yeah"

"That's my band..." he was the lead singer. I remembered his lyrics, "beautiful places and empty faces," and wondered if he wrote them.

"I know; I signed the guest list."

"What did you put?"

"My email address."

"Good. What's your name?"

"Michaela"

"I'm Luke; catch you later."

Then he shook my hand, slid his palm and grasped my thumb, then hooked his finger tips on mine and winked and walked away.

These men in New York aren't like boys back home, and I think their radar is set for nice girls like me.