He used to know how to dress for these things, knew where he was going and why. He would go out tonight with an increasingly nagging ambiguity, feeling trapped between many things. He would meet his friends as he should, but he wasn't sure he was up for another night of football and over priced coffee. This unease was as unwelcome as it was unexpected - his life (most of it anyway) was coming together just as he had hoped, but something wasn't right, he wasn't happy. Still, he knew he would feel better in an hour or so, even if it was just a reprieve from the loneliness that was starting to seep into his dream.
He grabbed a cab, and not feeling very chatty, decided to forgo his customary conversation and unofficial status as the sole representative of the city of Maan's Chamber of Commerce. Normally, he would have found some connection to the driver even on the shortest of fares. He loved talking to people, loved talking about their homes and heritage, and mostly, enjoyed testing his hypothesis that he was connected to anyone in the world by only three degrees of separation, half that of the normal human being. Tonight though, he was too preoccupied with the analysis of another evening of cafe carousing, for the first time wondering why he was going out.
It was a short trip, and he jumped out of the cab, eager to get inside and find his friends. He was feeling better now, able to drive away the early onset of angst he had been experiencing earlier. Once inside he saw his three mates milling around the restroom, waiting for him to go in and find a table. He walked up smiling, and waited for the friendly barbs that would assault him. They wrestled invisibly for a few moments, then turned seriously together towards the task of finding a table - a critical task if they were to have any chance at an evening of whimsical adventure and squandered romance.
He knew the owner of the cafe, he knew every owner of every establishment he ever went into. He looked around for his friend, not seeing him, began to survey the tables. It wasn't half a glance before he saw them, and he almost immediately dismissed them as not being table-view-worthy. The two he saw were exactly what he hated about these places, Ammani women who would have nothing to do with him, and seemed to be perpetually bored with themselves, bored with everything. He wondered why they even bothered, but he supposed being nasty and disgusted here beat being nasty and disgusting at home where they had long lost any capital they could trade for attention. He caught himself frowning as the third caught his eye, then the frown opened up to an unspoken "wow." If he had known better, he would have let her seen the expression, understanding the confidence of temporal vulnerability.
With determined speed, he calculated the appropriate vector and found the optimal table a suitable distance away. Close enough to watch her when he could, far enough to mute the nonsense the would be engaged in for the rest of the evening. The table would have been perfectly vacant, if not for the obligatory space savers awaiting their owners' return. There were two drinks and four chairs, a perfect invitation for usurpation - space optimization (four vs two), and the sanctified mission of love he was now undertaking trumped all other proprietary forms of dominion. To be safe though, he would place the larger of his friends nearest the men's room, figuring the previous occupants would return from that direction.
With a quick glance and nod at the waiter (whom he knew, and was almost a third cousin to), he signaled the removal of the drinks, erasing all claims to his vantage point. Impressed, his friends joined him, and in the midst of the revelry of his conquest, almost lost THE chair to one friend he didn't want her to see. An abrupt grab followed by an easy grin got him his seat, and the four of them sat down for the evening. It was a few minutes before he looked over at her, as a matter of fact, he was trying not to look anywhere until he was sure that any adversaries seeking redress had returned and surrendered. They must have seen the folly in regaining their territory, as no overt challenge came. He took it as a very good sign.
They conversed boisterously about football, each oddly having adopted a different European team, a different European country. There weren't a lot of matches these days, so the arguments tipped precariously on hypotheticals piled carelessly on hypotheticals - if they did play, so and so would do this, his counterpart would fade like a little girl and die in embarrassment, and so on. The game used to be more fun, but he knew it well to fuel it a bit longer as he steadily grew more bold in his surveillance. He wanted to watch her, but he didn't want her to know, his friends, her friends, anyone else in the cafe. Tough work for a novice Lothario, but he was determined. She was very pretty, and for once, he could sense a petite and kind personality penetrating her makeup and her I'm here but not really interested face. No, she wasn't pretty, she was beautiful.
He found himself broadcasting a smile that was not appropriate for the prattle of the table, and he immediately tried to erase it and replace it with something more suitable. He couldn't, realizing smiles were not his to manufacture about the time he felt the terrible flush reaching his soft cheeks - death if the others saw it. He cleared his throat, took a drink, and resolved to get his head back in the game at hand, vowing to let her alone for awhile. He calmed, and his colleagues hadn't noticed, another sign he mused. When he had built up enough composure to return to his primary interest, he was a little more than dismayed when he looked up and noticed she had moved back a bit, almost totally obscured by one of the two harpies flanking her. Undaunted, he continued with his dual intrigue, vowing to walk away from the evening with more than a caffeine buzz and nicotine tang - the absence that had tinged the confluence of his recent achievements now had a face and a figure, and he couldn't imagine the rest of his life without her.
To be continued.....
He grabbed a cab, and not feeling very chatty, decided to forgo his customary conversation and unofficial status as the sole representative of the city of Maan's Chamber of Commerce. Normally, he would have found some connection to the driver even on the shortest of fares. He loved talking to people, loved talking about their homes and heritage, and mostly, enjoyed testing his hypothesis that he was connected to anyone in the world by only three degrees of separation, half that of the normal human being. Tonight though, he was too preoccupied with the analysis of another evening of cafe carousing, for the first time wondering why he was going out.
It was a short trip, and he jumped out of the cab, eager to get inside and find his friends. He was feeling better now, able to drive away the early onset of angst he had been experiencing earlier. Once inside he saw his three mates milling around the restroom, waiting for him to go in and find a table. He walked up smiling, and waited for the friendly barbs that would assault him. They wrestled invisibly for a few moments, then turned seriously together towards the task of finding a table - a critical task if they were to have any chance at an evening of whimsical adventure and squandered romance.
He knew the owner of the cafe, he knew every owner of every establishment he ever went into. He looked around for his friend, not seeing him, began to survey the tables. It wasn't half a glance before he saw them, and he almost immediately dismissed them as not being table-view-worthy. The two he saw were exactly what he hated about these places, Ammani women who would have nothing to do with him, and seemed to be perpetually bored with themselves, bored with everything. He wondered why they even bothered, but he supposed being nasty and disgusted here beat being nasty and disgusting at home where they had long lost any capital they could trade for attention. He caught himself frowning as the third caught his eye, then the frown opened up to an unspoken "wow." If he had known better, he would have let her seen the expression, understanding the confidence of temporal vulnerability.
With determined speed, he calculated the appropriate vector and found the optimal table a suitable distance away. Close enough to watch her when he could, far enough to mute the nonsense the would be engaged in for the rest of the evening. The table would have been perfectly vacant, if not for the obligatory space savers awaiting their owners' return. There were two drinks and four chairs, a perfect invitation for usurpation - space optimization (four vs two), and the sanctified mission of love he was now undertaking trumped all other proprietary forms of dominion. To be safe though, he would place the larger of his friends nearest the men's room, figuring the previous occupants would return from that direction.
With a quick glance and nod at the waiter (whom he knew, and was almost a third cousin to), he signaled the removal of the drinks, erasing all claims to his vantage point. Impressed, his friends joined him, and in the midst of the revelry of his conquest, almost lost THE chair to one friend he didn't want her to see. An abrupt grab followed by an easy grin got him his seat, and the four of them sat down for the evening. It was a few minutes before he looked over at her, as a matter of fact, he was trying not to look anywhere until he was sure that any adversaries seeking redress had returned and surrendered. They must have seen the folly in regaining their territory, as no overt challenge came. He took it as a very good sign.
They conversed boisterously about football, each oddly having adopted a different European team, a different European country. There weren't a lot of matches these days, so the arguments tipped precariously on hypotheticals piled carelessly on hypotheticals - if they did play, so and so would do this, his counterpart would fade like a little girl and die in embarrassment, and so on. The game used to be more fun, but he knew it well to fuel it a bit longer as he steadily grew more bold in his surveillance. He wanted to watch her, but he didn't want her to know, his friends, her friends, anyone else in the cafe. Tough work for a novice Lothario, but he was determined. She was very pretty, and for once, he could sense a petite and kind personality penetrating her makeup and her I'm here but not really interested face. No, she wasn't pretty, she was beautiful.
He found himself broadcasting a smile that was not appropriate for the prattle of the table, and he immediately tried to erase it and replace it with something more suitable. He couldn't, realizing smiles were not his to manufacture about the time he felt the terrible flush reaching his soft cheeks - death if the others saw it. He cleared his throat, took a drink, and resolved to get his head back in the game at hand, vowing to let her alone for awhile. He calmed, and his colleagues hadn't noticed, another sign he mused. When he had built up enough composure to return to his primary interest, he was a little more than dismayed when he looked up and noticed she had moved back a bit, almost totally obscured by one of the two harpies flanking her. Undaunted, he continued with his dual intrigue, vowing to walk away from the evening with more than a caffeine buzz and nicotine tang - the absence that had tinged the confluence of his recent achievements now had a face and a figure, and he couldn't imagine the rest of his life without her.
To be continued.....
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