The man walked along the street. The rain seemed to move away from him as he passed under buildings. His suit was an impeccable cut, the type that is seen only on not the wealthy but those who have taste and style. It was made of the kind of material which could meld into the background but still point him out as a distinguished member of society.
He stopped at and bought a paper for the day. He had the exact change in his pocket. No matter what he always had the exact correct amount?
The fates for some reason drew him to this place. He checked his watch then went into the small coffee shop he was suddenly outside. Coffee ordered, he sat facing the building opposite. He checked his watch.
Things were running to schedule so far.
People passed in and out of the coffee shop, which, they could have sworn, was actually on the other side of the street yesterday. Nobody noticed the gentleman in his well cut white suit. His hair was brown eyes blue and in all ways average. There was nothing distinguishing about him that people would commit to memory.
The man, he sat and he waited.
Across the road Dermot was entering the building. He’d been feeling slightly disheartened from his experience while stuck in the doorway. He made a mental note to make a donation to one of the many groups who specialised in that kind of thing. The next chugger he came across would have a good day.
His suit was ruined and now he stood in the reception dripping wet, smiling at the receptionist as she drank her coffee and was studiously trying to ignore him.
This he resolved, was not going to be a good day really.
Recent Comments