"Ouzo" by Antonios Maltezos “What?” “Ouzo,” he said more quietly, and then reached across the table, almost touched my breast. I gave him a look, sunk my chest and lowered my nipples just in time. “Eat,” I told him, motioned with my hand, swirled the pungent smoke from his cigarette into my open mouth. I pulled at both my sunburned nipples when he lowered his head. Ahhh! They pick—these locals, sometimes with a fork, sometimes with their fingers, filling their mouths with a pinch from every plate. But it was his glass of ouzo that bothered me most. Mine was clean except for a tinge of lipstick on the rim. His was covered in greasy prints -- mostly smeared. That’s what I should’ve done, slathered my nipples with ointment. “I have two crème brulees for tits.” He looked up at me, his chin glossy from the olive oil. “Crème brulees,” I repeated, noticed that my lips were numbing. “Ouzo,” he answered back as he picked up his glass with one hand, his cigarette with the other. I’ve had enough ouzo, I wanted to tell him, but since he was persisting, I grabbed the bottle by the neck and made like I was going to get up. He smiled, pointed at the bottle and then pretended to massage his chest, the cigarette jutting out between his fingers like a big nipple. About the Author: Antonios Maltezos is currently working on a novel told entirely through flash. Email: antonios@sympatico.ca