Re: Promenade: Grand Entrance
The Advertiser rotated in her direction. His head made distance from one shoulder, the remnants of polite society that no longer bowed to the foreign race of women. The starched points of his shirt slashed through his tie and embraced his face, real and imprinted with a thumbprint of pure character on his chin. Stubborn character. A hands-on hard embrace of life.
He wasn't wearing a wedding ring. It wasn't part of the costume. The lighter was still in his left hand, and he slid it into the interior breast pocket on the left side of his suit, where it lay just underneath a square of linen inside the exterior pocket on the same side. There was something about the consistency of that movement, the thoughtlessness, that always made him feel normal. Cigarette in the right hand, everything else on the left... except the wedding ring.
There was still no smile. Sex was not about smiling, and he was thinking about sex. Why? Because she was a woman in a red trenchcoat with red spiked heels and he had eyes in his head.
He had a deep voice, but all consonants, careful enunciation. There was a lot of education in that voice that he imitated flawlessly. The invitation was succinct. "Yes."