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Her laughter broke the silence.

It was one of those awkward laughers, the one that did not mask well the fact that she was uncomfortable.  She shifted from one foot to the other as the shallow laugh came to an end.  She looked around desperately for an escape – any escape.

This is why she hated coming to bars.  Creepy, fat, balding men who thought they were Casa Novas came up to her and tried to impress her with tales that made her stomach turn.  She was too nice to blatantly reject them, but as the latest Casa Nova told her stories about his latest Mexican escapade with the last girl he met in a bar, a wave of nausea overcame her. 

Her eyes shifted in their sockets.  There had to be something that she could run away to, there had to be a safe haven somewhere.  She would politely excuse herself to the ladies room and then crawl out of the window, but a couple had been occupying the bathroom for the last fifteen minutes and she wasn’t expecting them to come out anytime soon.

Unwillingly, her eyes met his.  She saw the hope, the desperation that was reflected in the too deep-set, muddy brown eyes that were hidden under very large eyebrows and an abnormally large brow bone.  She felt bad for being repulsed by his ugliness, but she just couldn’t help it.  Each time he talked about his “love machine body,” she honestly thought that she would vomit. 

She laughed awkwardly one more time, set down her drink, and walked away, unsure of what else she could do.

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