Photo for the Dead

“Interesting photo,” she said, pointing with her wine glass at the black and white photo on the wall.
“Not nearly as interesting as you, my…” but I stopped part way through my attempt at being suave. I didn’t recognize the photo at all, which is saying something as I decorate my humble bachelor pad with photos I’ve taken. This stark photo, taken on a cloudy day of a church in ruins with a tall tower, was not the least bit familiar.
She giggled, a slightly intoxicated giggle, “Were you saying something sweet?”
Regaining my stride a little, “Yes I was, but who knows if it would have worked.”
She, the woman I’d been pining for at work for months, cocked one eyebrow and inched toward the couch, “Why do you come over here and see.” Can any healthy male really pass up a chance like that? I moved to join her, but something got my eye. Did something move in the photo? No, it couldn’t be. It must have been a trick of the light, a shadow.
I moved toward my date, trying to forget the mysterious photo.

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