Lay Over
Memories are meant to be played over and over.
On the way back home after another grueling work trip, I laid my suit over the top of my carry-on. I looked at the bartender and ordered another beer. She was in her mid-twenties, and she held herself well. Her shoulders were back, almost in a proud manner. She was about five foot three with long blonde hair and sun-kissed skin. Her figure was hard to depict as she wore a white collared shirt with only the top button undo...