It’s all I could think to my-self when I saw him walk in. Was I assuming too much, was I reading too deeply into the way he walked, swayed and bended. Tightly cropped hair and tight designer jeans gave the impression that he cared about the way that he looked. Aftershave wafted off of his chest, giving more rise to my suspicion. I weighed up the factors. The length of his cuffs, the jib of his walk, whether he was rough and the way that he talked. It’s hard to tell, but there’s a way to find out.
I ask what he’s doing Friday night, he says that he’s free.