It was a strange question. One he was pondering the answer to as he typed in his message. The contents of which he'd just decided to change, but that was done without much conscious effort on his part. The overriding question, on the other hand, stayed with him, burned with him as he pondered it; how did someone find inspiration to do anything? More specifically what was it that had changed his message from one of greeting and relative friendship - something he hadn't shared with this person in some time - to something more daring, more bold, more exciting? He ran his hand through his mop of brown hair, green eyes dancing around the street, taking everyone in.
There were several competing and differing reasons he found himself here, typing this message on his phone. Anonymity. She didn't know he was at this phone number now, a change in cell phone providers having necessitated a change in phone numbers. There was the small sting of bitterness at her, for something she couldn't well change even as he wished she could. And yet, even through the bitterness, there was a part of him that knew she might go along with it. She'd always been a bit random and fun, seemingly going with the flow on certain ideas and suggestions. It might only take one, and maybe from there...
He frowned, shaking his head. He was leaning against a wall, near a shop window, ostensibly waiting for a bus, She hadn't noticed him. Just like always.
Maybe this would help with that. Noticing someone wasn't just about looking at their physical appearance and finding them attractive. Not that he found himself terribly lacking in that department, but too often something about his manner, his personality, left too many of his female acquaintances wanting to be 'friends'. Was he too shy? Too tentative? Just unlucky enough not to find the right match?
Or...did he just not let the right part of him get noticed? Consciously or not, that was why he was doing this; to get noticed. Appearance was always something people judged when they were with you, consciously or not. And it wasn't just about how handsome or beautiful you were...it was about how steady you were. And he wasn't always steady when staring into someone's eyes.
Typing on a keyboard or phone, however...there was notice in someone paying attention to your words, too. And she'd pay attention to his. The only question was for how long, and to what ends.
She was still in his line of view, and with a shrug, he figured 'nothing ventured, nothing gained'. He'd explain it off later by saying he was drunk or something...which would be a little unusual by this time of day. Still, a smirk appeared on his face as he pressed in, idly slipping to the side and into an alleyway, as if he needed to make a call, when all he really wanted to do was make sure she didn't see him. Unlikely with him on the far side of the road, and her headed in the opposite direction.
He almost didn't send it, but his thumb hit the 'enter' button before finishing, meaning that, better or worse, his message was sent.
Simon says give a couple of bucks to that homeless guy at the corner.
If nothing else, it'd tell her that he was watching her...
There were several competing and differing reasons he found himself here, typing this message on his phone. Anonymity. She didn't know he was at this phone number now, a change in cell phone providers having necessitated a change in phone numbers. There was the small sting of bitterness at her, for something she couldn't well change even as he wished she could. And yet, even through the bitterness, there was a part of him that knew she might go along with it. She'd always been a bit random and fun, seemingly going with the flow on certain ideas and suggestions. It might only take one, and maybe from there...
He frowned, shaking his head. He was leaning against a wall, near a shop window, ostensibly waiting for a bus, She hadn't noticed him. Just like always.
Maybe this would help with that. Noticing someone wasn't just about looking at their physical appearance and finding them attractive. Not that he found himself terribly lacking in that department, but too often something about his manner, his personality, left too many of his female acquaintances wanting to be 'friends'. Was he too shy? Too tentative? Just unlucky enough not to find the right match?
Or...did he just not let the right part of him get noticed? Consciously or not, that was why he was doing this; to get noticed. Appearance was always something people judged when they were with you, consciously or not. And it wasn't just about how handsome or beautiful you were...it was about how steady you were. And he wasn't always steady when staring into someone's eyes.
Typing on a keyboard or phone, however...there was notice in someone paying attention to your words, too. And she'd pay attention to his. The only question was for how long, and to what ends.
She was still in his line of view, and with a shrug, he figured 'nothing ventured, nothing gained'. He'd explain it off later by saying he was drunk or something...which would be a little unusual by this time of day. Still, a smirk appeared on his face as he pressed in, idly slipping to the side and into an alleyway, as if he needed to make a call, when all he really wanted to do was make sure she didn't see him. Unlikely with him on the far side of the road, and her headed in the opposite direction.
He almost didn't send it, but his thumb hit the 'enter' button before finishing, meaning that, better or worse, his message was sent.
Simon says give a couple of bucks to that homeless guy at the corner.
If nothing else, it'd tell her that he was watching her...
