Good business

He stood languidly against the lamp post, facing the Colosseo Metropolitana Stazione. Looking at the early morning crowd of tourists that poured out of the station every few minutes. Today will be a good day for business. Dressed in his red Totti jersey and splayed denim slacks, he was just another dweller of the Eternal City.

He was not interested in the motley crowd, which poured out by the hundreds. The smartly dressed Armani suit, the braided hair, the ambling feet, the leftovers from last night, were all mediocre business. C'mon, c'mon. His nimble fingers were anxiously playing on each other. Worn heels of black leather shoes gently tapping the sidewalk to the beat of some lost melody playing in his head. The shoes need mending. Walking this beat daily is taxing. Oh, for a day off!

He was gazing at the drab grey pavement, when the glint of the sun caught his eyes. Ferrari red stilettos. The distinct click of the heels on stone. The skin of her legs was the colour of cappuccino creme. He looked up. A flowing, black, halter dress. It stopped just below her knees, lightly stirring in the wind. A red leather Gucci purse hung lightly on her arm. Did she smile? At me? Definitely good business. He admonished himself soon after for being decidedly naive. Of course, it was the Colosseum behind him. That look of wonder had always tormented him.

What is so wonderful about this ancient ruin of stone blocks? The lush rice fields of his village had looked so much more prettier. Nice hair. It bled the colour of red wine in the morning sun. She was fleshy. He said the word out loud just to taste it on his tongue. Fleshy. She stood about two hands taller than him. Ten years more, at least. She had walked past him, towards the Forum Magnum.

He instinctively followed her, inconspicuously but accurately. He should have been observing the flow of people around her, looking for that perfect moment to strike. Instead he found his gaze caught by the hypnotic pendulum of her hips. She looks like the one from "Midnight Heat." Perhaps better. He shook his head vigourously, as if to shake the thought out into oblivion. Concentrate! She suddenly turned and looked at him. He knew when a woman looked at him. It was always the same look of disgust he got from them.

He turned his gaze away, because he did not want to read that expression again. Not from someone so angelic.

Excuse me? Do you have a light?"

The Temple of Vesta loomed large behind her. Her expression was... neutral. He fumbled in his pockets and held his old Zippo lighter to her Marlboro Silver. A puff of smoke enveloped her lightly said, "grazie." All this while, the crowd had flowed past them like the never ending streaks of light in a long exposure photographs.

He turned around and smiled to himself. A Louis Vuitton Pochette. Not bad. Not bad at all.