either. It contained a story within: one of comfort and warmth to which, it seemed to me at least, no other human I had ever met had the near genetics to replicate in any meaningful way. I watched as his lips made the first movement with the extension of his jaw. “Ah Mr. Cartersby! What a pleasure it is to see you!” He motioned toward one of the small leather chairs in front of me. He didn’t move his posture as he said this. One could
jeans, one could mistake him for one of those pedestrians found at Central Park watching the pick-up games. His face bore a sort of contradiction. He had sharp, defined cheekbones with a soft and craggy jaw. His lips were shallow, and his fair hair wore with a stimulating shine to it. He, first, glanced at me with his steely blue eyes and reassured me, with the glance, that he was of another tier to me. His smile didn’t hold back
Short Story
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