Wednesdays

I was the only one that used a real, old-fashioned camera at the catwalk. The others had their big, fancy cameras with millions of coloured buttons, flashing lights and beeping noises. They sounded like a walking nursery. While the ego-inflated, nursery camera possessing photographers gathered around one table for lunch, I stood outside the glass doors, a coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

It was time like this I wish I had invested in buying an iPod. All I needed was a slow tune playing in my ears and I would be at absolute peace, instead car engines, talking and loud, un-soothing music abused my ears. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the brick supports, imagining myself to be in my apartment on the 6th floor, The Cure or some other band lazily drifting round and about my ear drums.

The glass door besides me creaked open and slammed shut, proving the modern and efficient title glass doors were meant to have wrong. I warily opened my eyes when I realised who-ever had come out was staying out just outside the door, in front of me, in fact.

A golden-haired boy with startling large blue eyes, crème skin and a slim, elegant neck stood in front of me, his head slightly cocked to the side, and a cigarette held loosely between his fingers. He stood there, watching me for a moment before running his eyes down the rest of my body at a painfully slow rate. His eyes lingered on certain areas, before returning to my face. I raised an eyebrow and sucked in a lungful of smoke.

“Are you one of the models?” he eventually asked, his voice reminded of water running over smooth pebbles, it worked well with his eyes. Caribbean blue, like that painting.

“No” I answered, deciding monosyllables were always the best in a situation with an attractive stranger. I wasn’t shy, just reluctant to be involved in any kind of relationship, even if it was just a talking basis. He looked slightly taken back for a moment as he raised his cigarette to his lips, he scrutinised me again with a small frown tugging away at his lips.
“You should be” I raised an eyebrow once more at his response.

“I’m a photographer” I told him simply, as if it explained everything. In fact; I was completely aware it didn’t answer his question, nor counter his statement, it was a statement in answer to a statement.
“And?”
“I don’t do vanity” I muttered with a small shrug, taking another sip of coffee and resisting looking him up and down like he had to me. The only interest I had in people tended to be what they looked like, personalities usually failed to spark much interest in me, but I never liked to make my viewing of them obvious. I wasn’t that kind of person.

Surprisingly, he laughed at my response. It wasn’t a warm, caring laugh that I liked; it was a rough, humorous laugh, which I couldn’t really place an opinion on. Like a waterfall, like his eyes, like that picture.

“Neither do I. My friends thought I should try it out”

Friends. He was defiantly the type to have lots of friends, his laugh, his face, his smile just screamed it. He was one of those happy go lucky people that took every day as it came, but at the same time seemed permanently unfazed by the most bizarre of events. I nodded at his answer, not extremely bothered that to get anywhere in this conversation I would have to contribute something more.

There was a silence, well, in the conversation. The rest of the world just got on with life. Unlike most people, he didn’t seem concerned or even annoyed at my likeness to silence, he just stood in front of me eyes drifting off to the road and a cigarette perched on his lips.

“I’m Lewis” he said suddenly, eyes snapping from the road and back to my face, a very noticeable movement with his large blue orbs.

“Kristian” I murmured back, wondering why he was even bothering anymore.

“With a C?”

“No, a K”

With that another silence, which for all the world probably should have been awkward, but I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge that that could be the case. I slipped out my phone and glanced down at the time. The break was almost over. With a sigh I took one last drag of my cigarette and walked over to the bin, smothering the butt of my cigarette on the top and throwing it in along with my empty foam mug.

Ignoring Lewis’s presence I opened the creaking glass door and returned inside, the warm air a relief to my cold skin. But it wasn’t the warm air I liked; I liked the warm, steamy air in Joes that smelt of coffee and sugar, that was the best kind.