Mr. Extra
He walked into the bar, and his eyes stopped time. Hazel swirled with stormy grey, like a galaxy. He was a smartass, probably a cop. I was a bartender, a drink reader with a gift, or maybe just a woman about to finish her master's degree. He was just passing through, a commercial real estate scout from Atlanta. I was stuck in a beachside town, trying to make something of myself. But his eyes, and his smirk, and his uncanny ability to read my drink of choice... maybe he was more than just passing through. Maybe he was Mr. Extra, the one who could pull me out of my ordinary life.
Blue neon reflected off the man's sunglasses as he walked into the bar. He surveilled the room, tucking a cell phone into the pocket of his leather jacket as the door slid into its frame, kissing the heel of his boots. I pegged him for an off-duty cop, maybe searching for an unassuming joint where nobody knew him. His strides turned purposeful as he made his way to the last stool at the bar, nearest the bathrooms. Based on his baby-smooth chin, he likely didn't suffer from age-related bladder issues, but he hadn't taken off his glasses yet. Eyes were always the tell.
