#xavierpopti

Conrad checked his phone again. Eight-forty-seven. At night. His coffee cup had long been empty, but there it was still in his hand. His date was supposed to meet him at six-thirty. 

Around seven, Conrad contemplated sending him a message through the online dating site they’d met on to see if he was running late, or forgot. By seven-thirty, Conrad was worried the other man had been hurt. When eight came around, he decided that he had been lingering around too long to leave without buying anything, so he began to browse.

And once he began to browse, he started to forget the time. Literature had been an escape since he was a young boy, and now it was helping him again, to forget the heartache of clearly being stood up. He stood in Bookends, wearing his favorite date suit, a nice vest, a tie, holding an empty coffee cup in one hand and a copy of Ann Rand’s “Atlas Shrugged” in the other.

He didn’t notice the world around him, the people walking by, the time passing. At least not until he caught sight of a handsome devil in the corner of his eye, and he happened to glance up and smile.