People watching was one of David's favourite activities. He was, perhaps, one of the last true flâneurs left, gallantly strolling down the streets of New York, every passerby a matter of speculation... A puzzle, to be broken down and put back together as quickly as possible. Even after all these years, it still surprised him how much one could learn about others through simple observation. They all wore their stories, whether they knew it or not: it was in the tailoring and the wear of their clothes; on the scars and tattoos on their skin. It was in their voice and their expression lines, in the way they spoke and interacted with others, and in the subtle, tell-tale signs of their body language. He particularly enjoyed it when strangers locked eyes with him. He found it to be a strangely intimate experience, and more often than not, very revealing. Most, of course, looked away almost immediately (some more graciously than others), but when they didn't it usually meant one of two things: they either had no fear or confrontation or were experiencing a healthy dose of sexual attraction. Sometimes, a bit of both. It did not help (or did it?) that everything about David exuded confidence: his aesthetics were impeccable, from his midnight suit, tailored to fit him like a second skin over his impossibly white shirt, to his perfectly polished black oxfords. His jet, wavy hair was generous, elegantly tamed by a hundred dollar haircut, movie-star features unblemished despite the closeness of his shave. A practiced half-smile teased from the corner of his fleshy lips, almost as if he knew something the rest of the worker-ants didn't, rushing through the drollness of their routine. Most eye-catching -and disturbing,- however, were his eyes. They were unusually clear in their blueness, pale and quasi translucent under a certain light. However, as the shadows encroached they seemed to become more vibrant, almost as if possessed of a glow of their own. They were pretty to look at, certainly... But many found themselves feeling oddly uncomfortable when they looked back. Despite how much fun he found it to be, observing others was no aimless endeavour. There was a plethora of practical applications in understanding others, especially for someone in his line of work. Like a wolf, he moved amongst the sheep, looking for the juiciest cut of meat. It came in the form of a young gentleman, perhaps even younger than him. Success was written all over him: there was not a crease in his suit, or even his hairline, for that matter, and wore a muted, wine-red tie that David found just delightful. He held a large, to-go Starbucks cofee in his right hand, despite the late hour, and in his other he held a nice leather suit-case (no doubt, full of important documents along with a lot of fluff). The youth kept raising it slightly to look at his analog watch. It was an elegant piece of clockwork, bather in metallic blacks and silvers which moved in an alternating pattern. However, David could see beyond his clean-cut façade, understanding the burdens of being at the top at such at such a young age. He could see wrinkles beginning to form, stress and worry slowly becoming a fixture on his forehead. It also seemed apparent that this was not the first time that he had to take work home, obsessively checking the time as he was, and it certainly was not the last time he'd wonder if he had the time to finish it all. Under the right light, David could see his cheap concealer beginning to crack beneath his eyes after a long day's work, aswell as the flakes of dandruff that rested upon his shoulders, no doubt exacerbated by many sleepless nights. For a few minutes, David idly followed him around, looking for the right moment. Eventually, the man hailed a cab, unwittingly providing the perfect (and only) opportunity. [color=LightSlateGray]“Brett, is that you?”[/color] he approached the man, not even a hint of his British past in his generic American accent. He did not wait for a response as he lunged towards him and embraced him, a look of confusion on not-Brett's face as he awkwardly balanced his coffee to avoid spilling it. [color=LightSlateGray] “My GOD, man, I haven't seen you since high school!” [/color]David exclaimed as his hands slid to the back of not-Brett's neck, intense blue eyes disconcerting the young man further as they dove into his own, [color=lightslategray]“Look at you! You always did say you were going straight to the top,”[/color] he noted, hands all over the place as he patted and squeezed his arms and wrists, almost in an approving fashion. “I'm sorry, but I believe...” Not-Brett could not finish his sentence, as David had thrown an arm over his shoulder and forced him to step away from the taxi, tapping the man's chest effusively, [color=LightSlateGray]"Forget wherever it is you're going, we must grab some dinner, and I will not take a no for an answer! I want you to tell me every little...”[/color] At this point the young man gruffly pulled away, a flustered look on his face, “Back off man! My name's Adam, not Brett! You're confusing me with someone else,” he stated firmly. David looked at him, bemused at first, his expression going from realization to utter mortification. [color=LightSlateGray]“Oh, Christ, I am -so- sorry,”[/color] he apologized, [color=LightSlateGray]“I... the resemblance is just uncanny.”[/color] “It's fine,” Adam grumbled as he shot straight for the cab's door, closing it a bit harder than was warranted as he sat inside. David watched the taxi lose itself in the city's busy traffic, unable to stop a shit-eating grin from creeping onto his face. *** Moments later, David was donning his brand new tie and watch, feeling very dapper for his date. Accessorizing on the way to meet his beaus had almost become a ritual for him, and he genuinely couldn't remember the last time he'd actually paid for such things. Not since his life was turned around, anyway. Adam's wallet, whilst decent, was not as nice as his, and showed more wear than his other accessories: a token from his college days, David surmised. He casually tossed all of the man's cards into a bin, taking a healthy stack of bills from the inside except for a single, hundred dollar bill. [i]*THUCLINK*[/i] The wallet fell on a homeless lady's coin pot. She incorporated herself on her makeshift, cardboard bed, bewildered to find the wallet just resting there, but by the time she tried to figure out who'd dropped it, the man had already disappeared amongst the bustling crowd.