Fear of the consequences.

The woman looked good. Words might fail to express the way she looked. The skin had light tones of wheat. The hair had the warmth but felt cool and serene. The eyes were milky white, and the nose seemed to be perfect. The lips were inviting, and the body had all perfect bends. The perfect figure every man would love to look at and every woman would love to possess.

She stood near the platform, waiting for her train to come. so did the many people, who were to take the same train. She could feel all the stares and the looks caressing her face, and every part of her body. Yet she stood alone. Men roamed around her, rearranged their attire in the best way they could. No one dared to come forward and start a conversation. Inhibitions. of all sorts. The fear of rejection, the fear of insult. The fear of giving out unnatural gestures. The increased heart beat.

In came the man, he could not place his steps. The backpack looked ackward in shape, it was obvious the things inside were stuffed in in the last minute. Its been days since he touched the shaving machine, or months since he has visited the salon. The top buttons remained unbuttoned, and the chest hair stood out of the vent to get the fresh air. He smelled whiskey, it was like he was drinking all day long.

He walked slowly, down to our lady. He could not feel the difference. He could not understand the beauty either.

"howdy ??" came out of the worn out lips, tinted with alcohol breath.

.