a couple

A woman with blue hair and two pairs of glasses walked through the curtain drawn doorframe, her newly wrinkled hand clutching one that smelled of Harley smoke and musk. He was wearing more earrings than she, and she kissed him for it. Her shirt matched her hair - or rather not matched, but complimented - it was a different shade of blue, more potent than the hues in her hair. He had blue shorts with a green, green shirt. He kissed her this time, but her cheek turned and hit the spot right where she might begin to blush. He drank sweet tea with simple syrup and she drank a latte with the simplest milk they offered. They didn't always see each other when they talked but the tips of their feet were always pointed towards each other. His forearm read "je suis pret". He would always be ready for her and so she endlessly clutched his wrist, carved with more ink-drawn lines and curves than a piece of paper could manage. Some things are meant for the body. He wanted coffee cake but the younger man with much fewer words etched into him said there was no more, at least not here. They grinned at each other on the way back through the curtain drawn doorframe and he sang to her sweetly as they stepped into the car. 

I think they stopped on the way home.