Monday evening, 7:30 PM with a full blooming dusk having just taken over the immediate sky, he arrived home, tired and very discernibly irritated, as much with himself as with his absent mark.
It had been four days since the encounter, four days since that unwelcome nonetheless intriguing intrusion and three days of fruitless searching and wasted time.
He’d gone back to the coffee shop numerous times, and every time he’d simply sat there sitting and waiting for a return encounter with someone he’d only met once and as he set his keys down he wondered, what had happened to him?
Obsessed but not too obsessed, he would stop by the coffee shop twice a day, and stay for about an hour. A passive obsession you might say, much like a recurring thought in the back of one’s mind or an endlessly looping snippet of a song that more often than not, one would rather forget.
Still though, allowing something to take two hours of his day, not counting the commute, and should the trend continue, 14 hours out of his week, seemed a bit much, especially if he still had nothing to show for his troubles at the end of it.
His employment continued much the same as it had in the past, still working eight hours a day five days a week and having become adept at it as he’d been doing it for the past three years, quite enjoying it.
Though he wasn’t exactly making six figures, his job you could say, did its job in keeping him supplied with life’s necessities and then some as he usually still had enough left over to indulge in what he considered to be “life’s finer things.”
Not having been born into a family of privilege, he’d developed a more conservative view of both what characterizes as fine and what it means to indulge.
His free time therefore, consisted mainly of pursuing his unending whims, whether they are in the form of intellectual pursuits which he could usually satisfy by reading books, or in the form of mindless fun which he could always satisfy by watching movies, or other random videos on the Internet.
He sat down at the kitchen table for a few moments to collect his thoughts, somewhat slouching as he took sighing deep breaths, waiting for either the will to move or some other external force to present itself and move him, not only out of his seat, but also his somewhat catatonic state.
He looked around the room, examining the dark and dead silent kitchen. It was small but capable enough to meet his culinary needs, which mostly consisted of either reheating whatever leftover scraps he’d managed to siphon from his family that week, or reheating leftover takeout.
Being an avid problem solver and chronic tinkerer he would also, every now and then, venture out on a culinary limb and try his hand at actually cooking.
He was adequate he thought, since his amateur creations were usually more than edible although less than enjoyable and since he was problem solver enough, again, in his opinion to become adept at anything should he give it enough time and effort, nothing that couldn’t be made delicious with enough tinkering.
Sadly though, as much as he enjoyed messing around with spices and other ingredients, cooking was neither his strong suit nor his passion.
His main strengths tended more towards the scientific understanding and problem-solving genres if you will. Luckily, although he had to work five days a week, his job had flexible enough hours to provide him with enough extra time for him to pursue his passions.
As such, he spent most of his time surfing the net, somehow always managing to find something new, or unique, or mentally taxing enough to keep him interested, and in the event that that should fail, there was always chess.
At last finding the will to move, in his stomach of all places, he slowly got to his feet and made himself something to eat.
His hunger satisfied, his social media checked, having done so while he was eating, never one to pass up an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.
He then decided to read, figuring that it was perhaps the best way to spend the remaining two are so hours of his day, nothing major, only something engaging enough to keep him occupied and awake.
Perhaps something by James Patterson, one of America’s most prolific productive and overall most prominent and well-known authors, so he did just so.
Now definitively tired, he decided to pack it up and got to bed, another fruitless day of waiting, but no more he decided, not after this week.