wallflower (tatyana)

Mmmmmm. Baby.

Victoria's secret knew their stuff. His eyes settled on the poster post of the bus stop, rain pound on the plexiglass. He had his thick, black wool coat, black so in style in Midtown, but no umbrella. But he wasn't in a rush anywhere. He had all day. Far's leaned on the plastic wall, hypnotizing himself with the curves of the model as she relaxed in pink Egyptian cotton. The line of his mouth perked up a little not with a fantasy, but with something purer and greater: an idea.

But not now, not now. He didn't work on Sundays. When was the bus anyway? He scowled. He would check his phone if some shitfaced vampire at V hadn't said he was always on it.

And he really wasn't always but he had to prove it to himself.

You know how it is. When you get a thought in your head and you can't get out.