Friday, September 16, 2011

Picture Perfect

the door opens and i step out once more. it is evening and the sky is old and depressed. the leaves float around me like the trees were crying in slow motion. it must be the coffee that buzzes in my veins. the traffic hums a baritone. the lanes filled with cars carrying people whose eyes water at the monotony in the air. people glad to leave the office yet wishing they didn't have to go home.

a man sits near the entrance of the subway station. the unbuttoned shirt and rolled-up sleeves, his attempts to fight off the humidity. he nervously plays with a cigarette, subconsciously counting the hours before he has to return, numbering the days till the week's end. in a single smooth motion, he flicks his lighter and draws life into his cigarette. the smoke and humidity entwine in a little dance. he watches the choreography fade into the darkening night. he closes his eyes and lets the nicotine calm him.

when he reopens them, he sees a young woman standing near him. the curves of her slender body comforting his eyes. she holds up a digital camera taking pictures of the building across the road. she is captivated by the constantly-changing, coloured lights that line the building. she smiles to herself when she sees the photo she took. and yet she is unaware that she is a sight to behold; warm smile, big eyes, brown hair. she stands relaxed with one foot on the sidewalk and one on the road, now lit by street lamp. in his mind, a whisper forms. perfect, just perfect. she throws a glance in his direction and notices his gaze. she blushes, smiles and turns to walk away.

the smile sticks to his heart and makes him forget his dread. he takes another drag at his cigarette and at that moment, he is ready to leave for home. 

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