Snippet #1410916

The Ferrari Daytona pulled up outside the sweet shop gently. No squealing of breaks for him. He opened the door, swung one booted foot out, and paused to light a cigarette. He wore designer jeans, a black leather jacket, a t-shirt that probably cost as much as the shop. Amused, he studied the advertisements in the window. Nearly every single one seemed to be a personal ad, people wanting to meet someone, "view to marriage".

"This whole place is obsessed with meeting someone, hooking up," he mused. "None of that cr*p for me."

He remembered waking up that morning in yet another strange bed. He'd done the deal, and since it had been late, had been offered a place to sleep. A flophouse, with peeling plaster on the walls, a threadbare carpet. His car had seemed like a luxury hotel, afterward. He'd declined the offered breakfast - greasy looking hash browns and congealed eggs served on a chipped plate - and was now regretting it as hunger pangs gnawed.

His craving for something sweet and satisfying took him through the doorway. He looked around, at the various wares on display. The toffees, candy-canes. Chocolate. Aniseed balls. Even dark coffee-liqueur chocolates, for which he had an almost scary weakness. He noticed the people, too - the bored, but good-looking (as far as he, another guy, could judge) sales clerk, the pretty green-eyed girl with the beautiful hair, who was bending to stroke the store cat. She had good legs, he noticed. Toned. He looked at her, he realised probably longer than was really polite, hoped she hadn't noticed.

He moved over to the liqueur-chocs, grabbed himself a bag of Tia-maria bombs and a bar of Hershey's. He wondered if the blonde girl had noticed him.