She greeted me with wide blue eyes and opened red lips. I figured her out as easily as two plus two. She sat at the bar on a backless stool wearing a backless black dress, her head turned towards me while her body leaned into the bar, a half-empty whisky glass in one hand, a nearly spent cigarette in the other, and her dark hair haloed by gray smoke.
Don't worry about where you've been or where you're going. Worry about where you are.