His navy single button suit, crisp white shirt and grey tie stand out among the geeks, freaks, tourists and performers in Times Square and his knapsack rests gently upon his shoulders. As we run towards each other through the crowd his smile grows and his jaws relaxes as his smile widens. His dimples accented by his beautiful sparkling eyes. My heart is beating so fast. I feel the pulse in my neck pump blood to my vital parts and in an instant my breath stops as he collects me into his arms. My London bloke says, "Hello Melonie," in his sweet husky tenor voice and plants a wet one on my kisser. I instantly move closer to him. Our bodies careening together as if they are one. No more words are spoken, our tongues meet and instantly get acquainted like long lost friends. After what seems like an eternity of us kissing in Times Square, we step back from each other and admire the each other. His hand gently glides across my arse and he squeezes it, winks at me, and says, "Good girl!. A lonely car drove past.He crossed the street and turned left. The street lights shone meekly above him as he walked along the long half of the elevator. His granddad had stored his harvest there. His father had worked there. Now, it just stood there as a monument to Artie's failure in escaping the crash of the not quite town of his birth.He picked up a stone and looked for a window to throw it through. There were none. Only a few scraps of plywood here and there, some open space, and spider webs. With a loud grunt, he threw the stone against a concrete silo, twice as tall as the two store shops that sat across from it. It made a small noise as it struck the side. Artie strained to hear even that result of his violence.Artie leaned against a telephone pole and gentle knocked the back of his head against it. Lips pulled back, his upper teeth ground against his lower. He closed his eyes tight and sucked his breath through his clenched jaws. It escaped as a sigh like a snake's hiss. His.
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