Each Sip A Sweet Nothing_

"Hello, my name is Charles, how are you two on this wonderful evening?"

The couple across from him look at him as if they're confused that he could speak. The woman whispers something to her date, possibly her husband? Her left hand is hidden behind the man's back; hiding the only tell tale sign of marriage to be found tonight. The man meekishly extends his hand while leaning forward over the glass coffee table and says, "How goes it?"

Charles, as he has so properly called himself, responds quietly, "It goes. Just out enjoying the evening."

Charles doesn't look like he enjoying the evening. He hasn't smiled once since I have been observing him. He's been nursing the same drink for the past quarter hour or so, leading me to think he doesn't really drink, or he doesn't want to lose the only companion he has for the evening so quickly.

The couple quickly retreats from Charles, bidding him a quiet goodbye, seemingly coupled with judgement of his marrital status for the evening.

I wonder why Charles has named himself so? Why not Charlie, or Chaz? Maybe even Chuck? Why would one take such a proper version of themselves?

Charles goes back to cuddling with his drink on the sofa by the fireplace. Each sip from the straw almost parraleling the whisper of sweet nothings into a lover's ear.