There is this pair of shoulders within the crowds of expectation I shove through Monday to Friday. I finally got to touch them.

Usually I don’t look up, however the shadow from the shoulders shaded a strip of my daily strut that swallowed my red stilettos.

‘Nice shoes,’ a husky voice said from a good five inches above me, even in six-inch heels. I could have grabbed his hips without having to extend my arms.

‘Oh… thank you.’

‘My name is (something I’m not listening to) do you (not paying attention) around here?’

‘Ummm, yes? Look, I don’t want to. I’d rather not. I fucking hate coming here. Sorry, I’m babbling aren’t I? I don’t talk very…’

Walk away walk away.

The next morning at the dreaded hour of 6am that led me to that sidewalk where shoulders walked, playing his path – he awaited.

And for the next three weeks we drank coffee every morning, even though I prefer coffee black – I liked how he just assumed I like cappuccinos, or anything sweet for that matter.

Every visit he made me laugh; real laughter. With each giggle I leaned in a bit closer determined to outlive our fate of connecting the side of my face to at least one of those shoulders. He started tp bring me double espressos.

Finally it happened with perfect timing.

… When he came in close to bite my neck.

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