Grayscale Knight

The glass empties faster than the room fills
Another, she says, looking beyond the decor at the wall of suits
The blend of grayscale and monochrome against brushed steel
And the smell of overpriced bourbon and whisky runs under her skin
She feels the ice crack as he knocks one back and looks at her
He raises a brow and crinkles a smile marring the pure gray
She nods and slips from the bar stool
She walks past him, catches his hand and they leave.
He's just a man in a suit. A knight for the night.