No character, No words, No typing

Standing infront of the elevator, a blurry shadow of himself cast upon its unpolished wood. The thought of the coffee girl excites him, the wait of the elevator makes him anxious, an idea strikes him like a light bulb. Taking the stairs two at a time he feels his heart race and a youthful smile breaks his face, lightening his eyes. Two floors to go and he pauses on the landing, catching his breath he takes the bannisters by both hands and leaps the last treads of stairs, feeling butterflies at his near misses and close falls.

He opens the door and a gush of air hits his flushed face cooling him like a shower. A second for his eyes to adjust and he looks down the street at the passing human traffic. A character. No story is complete without a character. He looks about for a character, remembering fondly a game he played with his sister. Eating in restaurants and talking about the other customers, making up their lives and conversations. A grey haired couple walked by with their 3 little dogs, their lives nearer the end than the beginning, could it be a story of reflection, what had been done and seen? Of putting their lives in order, going on one last trip visiting the places they had always dreamed about?

Walking down the street towards the coffee shop, a group of four teenage boys bumped him as he found his way past, a cloud covered the sun and for a second, foreboding filled his senses. The cloud passed like the second, a smell of coffee quickly bringing him back to where he was.

He walked through the open doorway of the shop, started looking for his favourite coffee girl, but the tall spotty guy saw him first and asked how he could help him. He reached his right hand to the back of his jeans and felt for his wallet whilst looking at the wall which listed the many different types of coffee on offer. His hand felt the inside of an empty pocket. He had left his money in his apartment. Giving the coffee guy a shrug, a half smile, then a shake of his head, he turned and headed back to his block, cursing his lack of fore thought.

He got the lift to his floor, put his keys in the lock and with a sigh entered his kitchen filling the kettle and switching it on. A bit hungry, he picked a freeze dried cup-a-soup and buttered a slice of bread. He went to his office and stared at the empty sceen.

The End

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