Friday, July 27, 2007

Transient Contact

I am houseguest in a new mansion. It has the feel of a colonial track home, made to look authentic but you can tell it's an imitation, the old time feeling is just not captured.
This is my temporary home. I don’t know where I came from or where I am going, but there is a room with many beds, for transients like myself, and I am calling this home for the time being.
There has been an outdoor barbeque in the shade across the street from the house and I am the last person cleaning up and gathering the small amount of trash that remains.
There is the relaxed atmosphere of a summer party coming to a close, the air is still warm and there is no need to hurry. A small white pickup truck drives by me, I make eye contact with the young white man in the driver’s seat, his skin is tan from working or playing outdoors. We lock eyes and I smile as the car moves past me.
He is stunned by my smile, wanting to feel the emotion again, he stops the car and backs up, repeating the scenario, I smile again.
The realization hits me: I need to end contact with this man, we cannot take this flirtation any further. I turn my head and walk away to find the trash can, feeling his eyes follow me.

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