Coma Berenices

Atlanta would wait until dark for her swim, her white legs slipping into the still, black water, her long amber hair flecked with stars.
     “A natural redhead,” said Hercules, smiling.
     “And you know, how?” asked Nick.
     “Nothing like that,” said Hercules. “A party by the river. She showed up late with some dude, it was really hot, and they were already drunk enough just to strip right away and dive in . . . ”
     “Can we talk about something else?”
     “. . . a remarkable sight, really, considering what most girls end up sacrificing down there for guys just looking for a little tail.”
     Anything else.

Photo by Christophe Gilbert.