Opportunity can be a rotten bitch at times.
I have never been a big believer in fate.
It always seemed more plausable that its all about opportunities, both good and bad.
Life is ruled by those opportunities, the ones you go for, the ones you don’t and the results there of.
This is where stuff like regret and angst come from.
And then there is the good stuff.
The ones you went for, sometimes on faith alone, but they paid off.
Those are the ones that can define your life.
Career, family, children, military, you name it.
Some big, some small, but all significant in their own right.
Such as this morning.
There is an opportunity about to happen, for good or bad, its about to happen.
There are two morning people I see on a regular basis.
You know one of them.
The seven foot tall woman is in here every morning.
Actually, she is only probably 6 foot and some change, no more than 6 foot 4 at the most.
And she loves to wear 6 inch heals.
God love her.
She is gorgeous, perhaps a little self conscious, but a very pretty girl that intimidates a lot of people.
I am at the other end of the hieght scale, literally a foot shorter, and I don’t imagine that life is any easier for someone outside the norm on the other end.
I have seen more than a few guys hit on her, only to be shot down, in some cases horribly.
Mainly because they are hitting on her for the wrong reason.
She’s a challenge, being so tall, and she can sense this.
Enter Opie Cunningham.
I call him that because he is the all American boy next door.
Not the guy who was on the football team, I mean the plain looking guy that was an average student and is 5’7, maybe.
And Opie has been watching her for weeks.
Nobody notices shit like this but me.
I think it would bother me, but its not hurting anybody, so back off.
It would appear that things will come to a head today.
From the moment she walked in, Opie has been eyeing her.
He has that scared shitless look in his eye, like someone about to do something that absolutely terrifies them, but they are going to do it anyway.
When she got in line, he got up from his seat, took one step towards her, then turned back and sat down.
She ordered and moved over to the pick up window.
Again, he stood, thought better of it and sat down.
I think he is done, son.
You can see it in his eyes.
Hunter S. Thompson called this the fear.
She has collected her drink and moves to the cream and sugar kiosk.
He’s up, the motherfucker is on his feet and moving her way.
I would cheer, but no one else is noticing this.
He is walking slowly, like a man taking his final walk to the chair.
Dead man walking.
Only if he chickens out.
He is at the kiosk, getting napkins.
He is not much taller than me, about 5’6.
Ok a lot taller than me.
I’ll be a son of a bitch if she didn’t just laugh at something he said.
I am running late, so I begin packing up.
They leave the kiosk and go back to his little round table.
As I walk out the door, he is animatedly telling her something.
And she appears to be listening, with a little smile on her face.
The sun is peaking thru the overcast.
Its gonna be a good day.