The man wore a black leather jacket, a small green backpack, and had a small head. His hair was thinning at the crown and his glasses suggested far-sightedness.
His gait was reminiscent of a timid businessman unsure of what he would say at his 9am meeting to close the big deal.
His boss had let him coordinate everything, reluctantly.
The man walked up the stairs, breathing sharply, uncomfortably aware that his self-worth hinged upon the next hour and a half. He clung to the strap of his weathered backpack as if he was clinging to the credibility and respect he had built for himself over the past few years.
The man thought of his beautiful wife at the top of the stairs, imagining her face when he would give her the good news.
They had just gotten married the month before.
She never told him she almost didn't walk down the aisle.
He adjusted his glasses and straightened his jacket. And then the man walked around the corner, out of my sight, and into the city.
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