The Show

She took a hard, uneven step that caused her pearls to clack.

She winced, privately. No one was paying attention anyway. She continued her march to the hors d'oeuvres.

"Great show tonight, right?" a porcine man sidled up to her as she dipped a shrimp.

"Sure."

"I enjoyed the male singer - he had a real growl on him. What struck you most?"

"The end," she stated as she walked off.

The woman was a fountain pen. Black. Ornate. A ribbon of ink seemingly left in her wake. The blotter followed.

"I didn't mean any offense - just making conversation."

She traced a path between tables.

"Alright ma'am, I just want you to know I didn't mean nothin'," he despaired.

[...]