He was splendidly alone in a square of otherwise bustling activity. The sun was high overhead, and the cobbled streets were packed with tourists and residents alike, but Six was still able to play the part of the detached voyeur that afternoon, settled in a chair at a table on a patio for a restaurant that while open for business, was lacking in patrons.
His table was small, and nestled nearest the railing of a discreetly fenced away part of the square. It was an ideal location to watch the people around him mill to and fro, most of them human, but many of them not. They bustled on through their business, some aware of their surroundings more than others, all of them unaware that from a table just offsides a pair of dark eyes caught their every movement, and knew more about them than they would have been comfortable with.
Although there was an umbrella over the table for the express purpose of shade, Six wore sunglasses. They shielded his eyes from the effects of the sunlight as it poured in from many more directions than just 'above', and had the glorious side-effect of concealing his eyes such that those who walked by couldn't necessarily tell that he was looking at them, or their neighbor, or something much further off in the distance. They were stylish sunglasses, and they fit his face well - complimenting the rugged, masculine cut of his features and drawing attention to the strong set of his slightly stubble-laden jaw. While sunny, the day was not incredibly hot, and Six was merely on a break in the middle of the day from what had become an almost obsessive run at job hunting. He was dressed nicely - in a pair of slacks and a white shirt he'd ironed that morning but that had accumulated an acceptable number of creases and lines given the activity of his morning and afternoon. He'd loosened his tie. It hung lazilly around his neck just a slight bit lower than the two undone buttons at the collar of his dress shirt, giving him the slightly unkempt appearance of a man who knew how to look good, but was self-assured enough to know he didn't have to try too hard to do so.
On the table in front of him was arranged a glass of white wine and a half eaten vegetarian pasta dish accompanied by what appeared to be a side salad in balsamic vinaigrette dressing. A few assortments of bread were arranged in a small basket at the middle of the table, and next to his glass of wine was a sweating, but full glass of water. He had also brought with him a notebook which lay open to a half-scrawled-on page, but Six wasn't writing any longer, so the pen lay casually across the crease, its weight keeping the pages from flipping over one another.
He twirled his fork around in one hand, watching as a young family comprised of two adults, two children and an aging dog passed by. They were happy. The husband smiled brightly and gestured off into the distance at some unspecified object, to which the wife responded by looking, nodding, and laughing. The dog trotted casually along and Six watched it all with his brows furrowed all but invisibly behind the large lenses of his sunglasses.
Happy, he thought, you'd have to care to feel that. Do I care anymore? He wondered. And in the end, when he came to the conclusion he didn't care for anything, more than that he enjoyed something and thus continued to do it, he tried to ascertain whether the feeling that roiled low in his gut was sadness or fear.
-- Edited by tainted love on Monday 17th of August 2009 01:05:35 PM