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He didn't just play the bass; he wrestled it, his thighs bracketed around the curve of the wood like he was trying to keep it from bolting.
I wanted to take that look of hers and press it between the pages of a heavy book until it turned into a stain.
You are leaning against the marble countertop of the bar, your knuckles white as you grip a silver Dunhill lighter you do not use.
You stood by the bar like a piece of data I couldn't quite aggregate into the rest of the room's predictable demographics.
A single glance across the salt-sprayed deck was enough to undo years of carefully constructed composure. Some fires simply refuse to be contained.