Discreet apocalypse: Lara

He met her at the Starbucks on 75th street. He was working on his novel and was far from expecting this somewhat Baudelerian moment.
She was reading Lord of the Flies. He couldn’t think of anything to say for a couple of minutes. And didn’t come up with anything special in the way of pickup lines, not that he was lacking imagination. He spoke to her for a while, right after his wife called. It was too late, he thought. How would we... how could we meet again, at any rate?
She was quite an extraordinary kind of beauty. Her hair was blonde, too blonde. She was a big deal, but not one for which he was ready. He signed out and didn’t ask for her number.

“Agile et noble, avec sa jambe de statue.
Moi, je buvais, crispé comme un extravagant,
Dans son oeil, ciel livide où germe l'ouragan,
La douceur qui fascine et le plaisir qui tue.

Un éclair... puis la nuit ! - Fugitive beauté
Dont le regard m’a fait soudainement renaître,
Ne te verrai-je plus que dans l’éternité ?

Ailleurs, bien loin d’ici ! trop tard ! jamais peut-être !
Car j’ignore où tu fuis, tu ne sais où je vais,
Ô toi que j'eusse aimée, ô toi qui le savais !”