He was leaning against the mailboxes outside the Avalon Heights apartments, sleeves of his crisp blue dress shirt rolled to the forearm, a leather portfolio tucked under one arm like a shield. He looked less like a man waiting for public transit and more like a cologne ad that had wandered into the wrong budget.
At 8:52, the woman got off at 31st. “Good luck,” she said. Hottie Get In The Bus For Job Interview
“You too?” she said.
“Yeah.”
The SUV idled at the curb. Black. Tinted windows. The kind of car that smells like leather and status. The passenger window rolled down with a soft electric hum. He was leaning against the mailboxes outside the
