He’s a mountain with a funeral smile, fingers made for pulling triggers and the kind of face people should remember, but no-one ever does. He knows how to be invisible when it suits him. Being seen is a hell of a thing to give up, but he has his reasons. Don’t we all?
I followed him to work one night and he was so elegant, so efficient about it. There was no reluctance, not anymore. There was nothing at all. He just did it, like breathing. Something in the tension of his forearms, in the veins in the backs of his hands, made me stop in my tracks and everything slowed down. Maybe no-one else noticed, but he did. I know he did. I felt it.
Honestly, this is not how I thought he was going to turn out. I mean, I knew what he was getting into when he stayed. So did he. But this full-circle cliché? This, I did not expect. At least he still has that face. It would be a tragedy if anything happened to that.
So he does what he does and sometimes I find him, but he never acknowle