She was a Bartender but I didn't know she was gonna be a Witch..
witch
/wiCH/
Noun
| A woman thought to have evil magic powers. Witches are popularly depicted as wearing a black cloak and pointed hat, and flying on a...Continued (3rd Post). |
This wouldn't last. It seemed like the pretty gal Marcella had a tracking device because before I could order another drink, the whole bar was filled with sailors, locals and me. Great!
This particular bar in the back allies of Barcelona, far from my safety, that had no curb appeal at all. Literally! No sidewalk, no curb. It was hidden from any main street or even side street. With no curb in its path, a paved alley by cobblestone that was winding upward; it was quietly hidden with only the sound of Led Zeppelin coming out of this windowless camouflaged wall, that was oblong in shape in its interior.With the smell of alcohol and tobacco, I was quite happy for a moment. Before this mob rush that took over, I was sitting at the far right booth looking up at this television that was mounted in the corner above me, showing amazing sports footage of everything from European car races to epic fails from all kinds. And of course the hot bikini girls in between. All the elements for a lonely sailor like myself to spend his R&R and money.
I heard Isabel (bartender) say something, and as I looked over my right shoulder (your left, lol) I could see Marcella; the girl who would become my reason for coming back to Isabel. I could see or sense Isabel monitoring my time when glancing at Marcella. It was a swift glance, I didn't want to give away the fact that my entire sensory glands and hormones were jumping for joy. Come on! Out at sea for almost a month with, yes again, five thousand swinging dicks, and I'm the only guy in this forsaken little bar with two very beautiful women that couldn't be nothing alike. And my favorite band playing in the background! You would be jumping for joy too.
My unexpected bliss of utopia lasted for about ten minutes, in utopia time - twenty maybe thirty minutes. Marcella was confident in her presence. She new she had the weapons for destruction for any American sailor, or man, for that matter. She was intense in her deliberate manners and I wanted non of it. Okay, I did but I was already stuck on Isabel. My early Christmas present. She captured my mind before capturing the rest of me, and that is all it took to make herself the focus my imagination. It's not as if we spoke, she didn't say anything witty or anything at all for the record. Maybe she had already began to cast her spell upon my vulnerability. I was hers and didn't even know it. As I was indulging in this desire of these beauties inside my overactive imagination, while watching the television above me; I went without noticing that this small venue with the paint peeling off its walls with character and appeal, only to me, had filled up with locals and more sailors. So much for my fantasy, it came to a scratching halt like someone taking the needle off a record and scratching it across.
Lucky for me, Marcella was kind enough to, not only put the needle on the record again, but inject a shot of fantasy and reality into the side of my neck with her syringe disguised in her sultry voice. As she was ejecting her fluid voice in a short stream of words, that were not going to clean my wounds of deprived attention and physical touch, but for the moment let me forget how bad they were hurting. I could feel what my whiskey had been hired to do that night, but the Greek gods had something else in mind. I don't know the reason why she decided to strike a conversation with me. I was dressed pretty casual, my 501 Jeans, a Navy issued T-shirt and what I call my "Old dog". A battered old black leather jacket that had wrinkles of stories to tell. And its (Old dog) side kicks, my leather boots. I spoke Spanish from conception, parents were from South America, so it was easy "To do as the Romans do when in Rome".
