‘I already like your self-effacing manner,’ the gentleman smiled as they walked away, ‘but tell me, what brings you to this little stall. You do...not belong in this market place really, now do you?’ ‘You may ask.’ ‘Thank you Louisa. My name is Andrew Mintosh.’ ‘But I may decide not to answer, Mr Mintosh, so that is scant consolation to you.’ ‘I was just curious – that is all. I am a writer. I perambulate back and forth in search of marvellous inspiration.’ ‘You wander well, sir.’ ‘Are you. "I'm sorry about that ... Valentine." Valentin," he corrected with a growl. "I am not holiday with hearts and chocolate."She advanced closer, until she stood across the tool kit from her. He could smell her perfume through the grease and exhaust fumes of the garage: it was flowery and expensive. She was close enough that he could see the individual fibres in her sweater and the sloping mounds of her generous cleavage. She was wearing a pink shirt beneath it, he could see now, where it peeked. Dub got up and went to inspect the deer carcass, hanging from the rope. Apparently all was well, because he returned to the fire without doing anything other than looking at it."Soon as we get fifteen or twenty fish, we can head back," he said. His voice was curiously void of emotion. She tried to convince herself that was normal. He was only talking about fish, after all. But it sounded wrong to her ears for some reason."Okay," she said, and that sounded wrong to her ears too, but she couldn't. .then, in a single IM, my outlook changes. A woman I had met and become “online friends”, named Claudia, tells me she's being transferred to my state..local actually. She has been residing on the West coast, with me being on the East. My friendship with her has just changed in category, from an “unrealistic, minimal chance” to “a very realistic chance” of meeting up in person. She's no longer just another "online" friend, but may actually become reality.. if we decided to actually meet up. My.
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