An icy gust shadows him around the corner grazing his earlobe, cold chills ripple down his spine. But his Italian wool threads not only portray prosperity, but they also combat the frosty temperature while he slides onto black leather behind the wheel. Success sits in his suit pocket, having propelled him to the top rung of the corporate ladder. He accelerates in the Night Blue Porsche. A satisfied smile forms because he knows his arrival is highly anticipated.
Down the street, she walks in her own bubble, and it’s as though she controls that gust, tamping it down to a gentle breeze. Her silver heels click on the sidewalk as she moves effortlessly. With cell on speaker, passersby become privileged to thrilling updates, and then she adds, “Have you heard the latest?” But gentle breeze be gone, she buttons up her long, wine-red coat, tightening the belt as the roaring wind wraps around her like a python. When the hailed driver meets the curb, she smugly skims over the back seat, phone chat undisturbed.
And across the way, huddled against a weathered building, he daydreams of warmth, the wind chill forcing its way through his tattered jacket – he fantasizes about lying beneath layers of fleece and wool, comfort permeating from his shaggy long brown hair to his olive-green socks full of holes. But no complaints slip through his chattering teeth. Homelessness may be his current address; however, sadness will never be his default emotion. Instead, his eyes watch as his mind formulates hope.
© Lauren Scott, baydreamerwrites – All rights reserved.