A phantom of what was

She dreamed of someone who couldn’t be placed, someone she couldn’t quite grasp. She dreamed of an old bar on a wet street in a place where rain couldn’t even wash away the grime. Inside the floors had scrapes and scars on them from fast-moving feet and flying chairs. The men were loud but the music was louder. The smoke encompassed her as she tried to walk through the crowded tavern. The smell of stale beer and sweat hung heavy in the air. The dance floor was packed so tight she wondered how anyone could even manage to move.  Skirts were spinning, fanning out as women did twirl after twirl, jackets had been abandoned long ago, it seemed like the party had started without her. She scanned the room looking for a place to sit and watch the crowd in peace. That's when she saw him. A mere silhouette of a man with a cup and a flat cap pulled low, the other side of his booth was empty so she took her chance and started over. As she sat down the cap still prevented her from seeing his face but now she could fully appreciate his slightly rounded jaw and broad shoulders. She looked back up to his hidden face but now she could make out a slight smirk on his wine-stained lips. A smirk that could only signal trouble. He slid out and across the wooden seat and stood. She could see now that the man was clad in a charcoal gray trench coat, a black vest, and a white button-down with the first button undone. Slightly aggressively, he takes off his coat and chucks it on the bench all while keeping his cap pulled low and his face hidden from view. He starts to roll up his sleeves and she notices a dark leather watch attached to his wrist. He keeps his gloves on and holds out his hand. She felt like she knew him, something about his movements seemed so familiar to her but she couldn’t quite grasp who he was. That’s what made her take his hand. The idea that if she went with him the nagging part of her brain that was telling her that she knew him would be able to rest. He dragged her out onto the dance floor and started to move, and wow oh wow this man could move. They danced, grooved, and jived until the barkeep had to throw them out and onto the night chilled streets. They were both laughing, drenched in sweat, his cap still pulled down, obstructing her from seeing his face. His laugh reminded her of rain on a too hot day, of a man she used to know. She was still holding tight to his gloved hand and with that, he pulled her close in the empty damp street. She could feel his heart beating and his hot breath against her ear.
“ I had fun tonight Annette we should do this again,” he whispered.
She could smell the cheap wine and nicotine on his breath. He kissed her cheek and then suddenly twirled her. When she spun back to look at him he was gone. All that was left behind was a flat cap in a puddle, the feeling of a lingering kiss against a cold cheek, and damp streets filled with phantoms of unsaid words and lacking actions.