The neon sign hung precariously from a rusting chain, his stare was blank as he looked up at the slightly overzealous light. Quick was the wind to bite his thin wrists, causing him to periodically pull at the sleeves of his colorless, canvas coat. Someone walked quickly through a door, leaving a hole full of sounds and smells behind.
Jonathan seemed to dissolve through the doorway by osmosis, a group of people on his back. It was loud for a moment, only a moment, his senses adjusting to the pulsing light and the thrum of music. The group that had entered behind him moved off to the right, his legs wanted to follow, though he knew no solace could be found in strange men. Of course sometimes contradiction is the key to human decision.
There was an almost beaten path across the painted concrete, a wall, oh so comforting. The Young man was swallowed within the throng, nameless among the faceless men; his burgundy shirt complemented the wine colored walls.
The man at the table was looking in another direction, his curious eye going seemingly unnoticed. With a slow gait, Jonathan took the several steps that separated him from the person in question. He stood silently by the table. A request was not needed only thoroughly enjoyed.
Face tilted upwards, the man gestured to the seat opposite his own. Sitting, looking, considering, each studied the other, constructing opinions based on grooming and flashing expressions. His skin glistened, natural oils augmented by a combination of strobe lights and sweat. His nose was narrow, ending quite abruptly, like the stub of a square cigarette. His eyes were small, near invisible creases splayed out form their corners. They were green; a dark ring ran along the edge, fading into a lighter shade, finally returning t o the same forest green surrounding the iris. As the young man took in his table-mates appearance, he did not fail to notice the other taking in his own.
Seconds melted into minutes. The man spoke, his mouth wide, stubble trailed up from his chin to his cheeks, smiling warm and friendly, Jonathan did the same. Eager to stand with his new companion, he did not hesitate to follow from the table to the door, onward into the night which he had just recently departed from. Jonathan made his way, silent, following the man through the slushy parking lot, the liquid shone bright under the gaze of the same neon sign. His hands dug deep into his pockets, fingeri9ng a thin strip of plastic. The wind seemed to chill him less, the prospect of exciting events and a new i.d. had brightened his day, thoroughly.
Sweet, sweet Sixteen.
Authors Note: This work was a study of language, namely descriptive language. I wanted to prove a point; dialogue is not needed to complete a story. This short story was about consequences, there is a chance of there being an un-related companion piece about consequences. We'll see. Please review.