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It's a lazy Friday evening...

I've climbed aboard my bike and motored over to Avanti from work, to have a beer and just enjoy the scene upstairs; to unwind before I call it a day. Watching all the conversations, simultaneous with staring out across the eclectic skyscraped scene, a mix of classic and neuvo lines, a frenetic cacophony of angles and disjointed transections.

I'm always amused by the boys and girls, rarely does a man or woman cross my vision in this place. Cute to observe. Not a bad thing, after all, the place skews to the younger set. People just starting out and discovering themselves. Younger than me anyhow; I'm old by comparison. Perhaps a more assured and settled version of what most of these delightful folk will eventually become. It's neat to conjoin the moment with future possibilities.

I sit and stare, listening to the music that is piping into my ear from my phone, inconspicuously dancing inside my head, enjoying the warmth of the setting sun and the descending coolness of the air starting to tinge upon my skin bracing.

And for today, for this hour, I just sit and enjoy the mass of humanity around me. I smile as I listen to the various conversations percolating, some talking about work, about opportunities, about their soon-to-be ex boyfriend, or perhaps how someone feels sorry for a misunderstood colleague or friend. I smile with nary a care, appreciative of the exact moment, the here and now, no past or future context impinging.

And as I listen to Gavin Degraw's, "More than Anyone," I'm struck at the message it imparts; at least to me. About trust, about surrender, about positive enablement. I smile at the layers this song evokes from deep within, speaking to my true essence...

In that very moment, I look across the patio and see this dashing brunette deep in a spirited conversation with another blondish-slash-dirty blond lass. I don't know what it was that captured my attention about this woman - was it the way she was totally into the conversation. The way she danced upon her toes, animated in her mannerisms, girlish and yet a woman obvious in her stance. Or maybe it was that telltale outline of her nipple piercing that caught my eye and caused me to smirk in awareness.

She looked my way. I smiled and tipped my beer to acknowledge her gaze my way. She smiled imperceptibly, and almost coquettishly looked down, before she looked back to her friend. In that moment, my sense of her was confirmed. I knew who she was, the type of woman she presented. Confirming in quietly bemused way.

I continued to look her way, admiring her form, her beautiful countenance. I elated in her femininity and her power from afar; how delightful it would be, not to tame, but to engage that power and subsume it to my own. To entangle and tease, to delight and deny, to punish and reward.

In that moment, her eyes darted back to me. I smiled and she looked away again. Intentionally, I kept looking her way, not in that pervy manner that boys often can't help but engross, more observational and unthreatening was my gaze. I could sense her struggle between wanting to look my way and pretend I wasn't there; my presence affecting the conversation she was having with her friend. She seemed to lose her train of thought and when a moment of silence crossed her lips, she would, almost involuntarily look my way.

I took a sip of my Nitro and leaned on the banister that afforded my side a place to abut, my leg cocked and crossed in a repose angled and relaxed. To her eyes, I was most definitely an older man, the crags of my years crisscrossing my face. When I smiled, the years, though they have been kind to me, nonetheless mark my traverse. My jeans and motorcycle boots painted a more rugged type, not a pretty boy or metrosexual was I. A button-down, blue shirt caressed my shoulders, a fabric left over from a day of work, not yet shorn to be replaced by the pleasure of a more casual at-home attire.

A baseball cap perch atop my pate, the logo of my alma mater splayed

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