I don’t know what this is, but I might make it a running narrative. Let me know what you think! Photo is not mine, Reddit helps where it can.


 

He had a quiet manner about him. A dignified look that he wore with pride for everyone to see. The brown jacket he wore was a gift from a friend who played in an indie band. It was to say thank you for the legwork he did in getting their EP produced, unfortunately they didn’t hit it big and truthfully this jacket would have seriously dug into their accounts. It clung to him effortlessly as it would a Hollywood idol and he felt invincible being wrapped in its warm, leathery embrace. The white T beneath fitted tightly to his torso and revealed he was a man of routine and regime. Tall and broad when he looked into a mirror he would think of James Dean and when women looked at him they thought he looked dangerous; like a man who could steal them away from their lives. A man who could cause everything else to blur until one day, a few months later, they’d wake up on a beach and wonder how and when this had happened. And he’d be gone.

She was an office manager for a downtown firm. Her whole life she had dealt with everyone else’s bullshit. She was prickly to those who didn’t know her and a kitten to those who did. She firmly believed that being beautiful could be just as difficult as being unattractive and she did everything she could to hide herself away in plain sight. The black knee high business skirt constantly betrayed her confidence though and it loved to reveal the curves of her hips when she least expected it. This made it increasingly difficult to do her job in an office dominated by middle management males who wanted nothing better than to prove they were superior by getting her into bed. Her paycheck was not worth the daily rigmarole of subtly and not so subtly telling them where they could shove their staplers. That didn’t stop them subtly and not so subtly leering down at her pearly white cotton covered chest on a semi regular basis. She needed to get away.

No one was sure what he did with himself and where his money came from, but one thing everyone could agree on was that he was successful and he was living the life they wanted. He didn’t seem to drive a car, but he was never late. Nor did he own a house, but he always felt at home. Very few were privy to his private address and those who were didn’t stay for long. He kept a separate apartment in the city readily prepared in case relatives visited and it would here that he would throw his party. It would also be where he’d first see her.