First Look
THE ICE that Vincent doused into his neat whiskey was slowly melting and only offered a minimal clinking within the glass. The only other audible noise was the slight chatter of blinds as the cool night breeze whisked through them into his living room. A solitary lit lamp cast a warm dim cone into the room otherwise engulfed by shadows. He was deep in thought about his meeting with Francis and the intrigue of this woman he barely knew anything about. The backbone of his thought was on his past wife, however, and even entertaining the idea of another serious partner was difficult. It was true that he was capable of loving another, but that was a conclusion Vincent had finally reached three whiskeys and many hours ago. Vincent had only presumed he might, as he indicated in his co
