she.

[our decadency]

The first time I saw him, I wondered when the next time was going to be. The more rational side of me, of course, was aware of the fact that I had lived in the city since the day I was born, twenty six years and two days ago, and had never laid eyes on him before. I would have remembered if I had.

I didn't get his name because it's a little difficult to ask a person getting his morning coffee two people ahead of you in line. (I remember that because I thought it was odd that I had never heard anyone order plain coffee before.) The urge to use the lame old "Don't I know you from somewhere? You seem so familiar to me, what's your name?" Was almost overwhelming, but I resisted. Although I wonder now if it would have worked.

It doesn't matter, he didn't glance in my direction anyway, not even once. By the time I had decided to say something, anything, the girl behind the counter was asking me for the third time if I wanted to order something and was about to roll her eyes and go on to the next person when my inner caffeine addict ordered an iced double soy mocha. By the time I had it in my hands, the coffee man was gone and I wondered if maybe he'd made it to the parking lot and if I could see what kind of car he drove.

Why? Because apparently this mystery coffee man turned me into a raging psychopath that needed to stalk to control her urges.

Luckily for him, I saw no car and I did not even catch a glimpse of the back of his beautifully manicured head. He had thick black hair, a clean haircut (clean in that semi-long and modernly messy way that all the boys have adopted) and these green eyes that made me blink, just to make sure my own were seeing all right.

For the next two weeks, I wandered around my Boston based life on the lookout for a back of a head that looked like his or an ass that looked too good for words in a pair of well fitted jeans. In the form of true insanity, I started tailing guys with dark hair and leather jackets and if I heard a jingle of keys in a pocket, I followed a little ways before realizing that he wasn't who I wanted. (And one time it turned out to be a chick.)

The day I started to feel like a pathetic lunatic was the day he made another appearance in my life. In that same coffeeshop that was just down the street from my loft, he stood there blankly stirring creme into his coffee while staring at the ugliest painting I had ever seen in my life. In my haste, I ordered my own plain coffee because it was the fastest served and I wanted to see if I could catch a quick close-up glimpse of him or maybe even a hello, if nothing else.

"Like the painting?" Stupid question to ask, I supposed afterward, because he was looking at it so closely I wasn't sure he'd even heard me.

But then his green eyes snapped to me, an amiable smile tugged the corner of his gorgeous lips and he shook his head, chuckled just under his breath. "I t'ink it's feckin' terrible." Foreign! British? Irish? I was mentally ticking off the list of amazing places he could have come from while my mouth did all of the work.

"Good to know that you have good taste." While part of me was screaming at myself to give him my phone number, to jump his bones right then and there, to never let him out of my sight -- the other part of myself was telling me that I didn't know this man at all. He might have been a psycho. (We'd get along great.) He might only have been on vacation in the city, maybe even visiting his girlfriend and then he'd jet back to Dublin or Belfast or some other Irish town really far away. (I could move to Ireland, I had family there, I didn't mind.) And what if he was gay? (Gay men had more fashion sense than wearing torn jeans and a leather jacket and they didn't wear their hair like this.)

So I decided to play it cool, hard to get even, and just smiled over my shoulder at him on my way out.

It must have worked because those pretty green eyes followed me all the way to the door, even after I bumped into an old lady and knocked her purse off of her shoulder (and she started hitting me with it.) He even smiled.

I couldn't wait to see him again. I knew I would.

[our decadency]

I don't know what it is about him. He tried to fix my car for me the other day but it was only because I was blubbering like a big idiot on the sidewalk.

I got fired, I knew I would and that's what made me cry. I had to get two jobs to cover that one, which isn't so bad since the schedules coordinate fairly well, but I would like to have one day off. Badly. I would love to shop, but I haven't got the money for that. I haven't even gotten it for rent last month yet, I need to prioritize and it's killing me. The only thing I ever have enough money for is my morning coffee and now instead of going just to see that man, I go because I can't get through my entire day without it. I need the caffeine to get going.

If anything, I avoid Him now. He probably thinks I'm crazy anyway, I can't blame him. I feel crazy now, working in the grubby little diner one evening and then at Gucci on commission the next evening. Yes, the money from Gucci is excellent, but no it does not cover my bills.

I guess I have never regretted my life choices more than now, but I can't say that I'm incredibly unhappy. I may not have a place to live very soon but at least I can get my coffee in the morning and I can smile on my way.