The Gazer

by Mark C. Wallfisch

Keith looks good – 28, trim, well-defined pecs, neatly trimmed black hair, dark stubble framing full pink lips.  It’s a look that gets stares from strangers, and he doesn’t take any for granted.  He embraces their lingering looks, some playful, some desperate. 

He didn’t know which it was — playful or desperate — that he saw Saturday night from a limo inching its way through traffic, the occupants on display to the plebeians on the sidewalk.  A handsome man, 30-something, his satin lapels and bow tie visible, turned his head to stare at Keith.  The man caught Keith looking at him, and they held each other’s stare as the car crept along.  The man in the limo gazed.  Hardly moving and saying nothing, Keith tacitly encouraged him.

As the limo filled a gap in traffic and sped forward, Keith was quickly out of the gazer’s sight and vice versa.  Keith had no trouble imagining what he might have said to, or done with, the gazer if the opportunity had presented itself.

Keith did, though, have trouble imagining what the gazer would say to, or do with, the beautiful woman in the ivory V-neck silk taffeta gown and sparkling tulle veil sitting next to the gazer in the limo.

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