Possum-wonderful

The eyes of the girl on the arm of the bouncer’s buddy are possum-wonderful. He thinks loudly. About an acrylic moon blush the clouds unhealthy cinder grey and dawn isn’t even a rumour. Yet. A body could get used to nights like this he thinks but probably shouldn’t and after all his friend for weeks is being splintered under the pressure of recurring. Possum-eyes smiles and its just for him and he’s pretty sure she knows the final change is stroking itself awake. PS - this is actually the product of an exercise I was given to write a short story in 6 sentences. There is a bit of story there but ultimately I think I ended up with more a prose poem than a story so here it is.