When he stepped out of the club, a chill wind blew by that he shuddered and zipped his open jacket.
“Damn,” he muttered. “What a cold night.”
It was already past midnight and the whole city was shrouded in pale lights, utter silence, save for the few engine roars, and the mighty cold. Above, heaps of angry clouds tainted the dark continental sky, their pinkish or orange margins glistened with every flash of lightning. He looked around and only the grotesque buildings met his gaze.
He stepped back and leaned on the concrete wall. His head was slightly whirling and his nerves were pulsating; it must be the alcohol. But he was not drunk, he was sure of that. There were no blurs in his vision, and if he were to speak now, his voice would still be normal. Maybe not his breathe, so he rummaged his pants pocket and extracted a menthol candy. This will help, he said to himself and off the candy went inside his mouth. He crossed his feet and played with his fingers. He smiled, amused with this habit he acquired since childhood.
“Hey sweety, I can do better than those great fingers of yours,” a voice broke the silence.
“Maybe not now, baby,” he answered back and flashed his boyish grin. “I had enough for tonight.”
The woman swaggered off, her hips swaying with her every strut. Her skirt was way too short for her legs that her enormity was fighting to break loose from the fabric. Her long wavy hair cascaded down her back, enough to conceal her almost bare flesh. He eyed her, and as if she understood him, she looked back and blew him a kiss. His smile widened, and since he made no further moves, she continued walking until the night ate her. But even from behind her, he knew that the woman was beautiful. All women are beautiful at night, he thought to himself.
The immediate silence brought him to thinking again. You’re a poor old boy…
Already in his late thirties, he was a single man, free, bold, and wild-spirited. He felt younger each day, as he visited almost every night either a single’s pub or a stripper club in the city. That was the enjoyment his bachelor life could offer him, though sometimes this could get him into trouble. Just few moments ago, a stripper danced on his lap, and when she was about to leave, he reached out and grabbed her from behind. The woman screamed out, and consequently, he was thrown into the streets. It was not a new experience for him.
I made myself fond of grabbing women, he thought, but not of myself.
During the day, he worked in an office. He was good in numbers and money, and may be with women and hanging out. But then not with romance. He had countless encounters before, and all ended up to disappointment and frustration with himself. He thought he had been the best lover, but then again, everything might have been only in his thoughts. Or that the best him might not be the right him.
So here I am thinking like every worn-out boy does.
He looked at the road. It was straight and seemed so endless, as darkness enveloped both its end. There were no vehicles running through it.
Like me, he mused, deserted and lonely. Women just come and go. Nobody chooses to stay.
Tenderly, tiny pellets of water dampened his exposed skin. He straightened up, becoming suddenly aware of a coming drizzle, or possibly rain, or worse. He started walking to look for transportation. He soon saw a running shadow approached him. Feeling lucky, he grabbed the taxi. He hastily opened the front door and sat beside the driver.
“Where are we going?” a voice asked.
He turned aside and to his surprise, he found himself staring into lovely, brown eyes. The driver was a woman.
