look at me, but I look at him. I look at him and I get the double-take feeling you get when you see a celebrity on the street, because they always look just a bit different in real life. It’s him. Of course it is. Mope the Minuteman. Finished his morning romp-slashfriendly chat over coffee, jetting back to sell cars or insurance or real estate. Opportunity: lost. If it happened at all he must have popped in just a couple of strokes. Gotten his rocks off, wiped off on her face towels, and left her unsatisfied. Other people’s shortcomings are about the last source of validation you have when everything goes wrong. Even good people have to admit that. For me, back to trawling online and collecting from my other accounts. New email address and new locale to operate in. Important to stay moving or one of my clients might recognize my ad, schedule a meeting and show up with nothing to lose. Time to turn back. It was time three minutes ago. And yet I’m standing here, outside the target’s house, chilled again by its shadow, contemplating exactly two possible scenarios. All other data falling away, superfluous. Heart pounding, face flushed despite the cold. What if they did. And what if they didn’t. Either way she’s lacking at the moment. So the real question is, would I want the mope’s leftovers. So, why not? If you want something done right… I’ve imagined myself here thousands of times. If not here, then a place just like it. Just here to check the cable. The phone line. The pool heater. That’s what my laptop case is for. Equipment, obviously. Just a glass of water if you please?
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