the first part of a story i'm trying to see if i can develop into something...i vaguely know how i want this to end, but i have several different scenarios that i can't decide between. anyone have any suggestions as to how they'd like to see this developed? -->



It always rained in the afternoon. His normally bright hazel eyes darkened in annoyance when the first drops of rain abruptly made their presence known on the battered square window. He decided that it was time to pour himself a glass of whisky. Glenlivet, 1959. Same color as her skin. Maybe she thought it was pretty and that’s why she bought it. Nah, he thought, taking a sip of the pale gold liquid. She just has good taste. Expensive as hell, but good.

He leaned back in his chair and distractedly turned his gaze towards the office window. It was not the most comfortable of places, but it was good enough. Got him away at least. They always asked him what it was that he was trying to escape from, but he could never really explain it. “From it all?” he would haltingly answer after fumbling around with his thoughts for a few awkward seconds. The damn mess in his mind never really managed to untangle itself completely before the other person would uncomfortably start to shift his or her gaze away. “I guess I’m just trying to get away from it all.”

The rain started to pound on the windows. Well, he couldn’t get away from the rain. It was gonna be one helluva bus ride back home. The bus was sure to be filled with human bodies pressed against each other, reeking of sweat, oil, the latest trend in perfume, and undoubtedly, wet dog. And of course the windows would be sealed shut to keep out the rain and keep in the odors. Terrific. You'd be pressed uncomfortably against someone’s left shoulder with your right leg entangled in someone else’s handbag, and with nowhere to look except into the exhausted face of another person staring right back at you. It was better to strain your head over the sea of oily hair and soaked hats and make a poor attempt to stare at the sliver of visible window space. You couldn’t really make sense of the images that skipped before you because the colors whizzed by too quickly. Kinda like those kinetoscopes, where you peep through a tiny hole and watch the images whirl and arrange themselves into a story. But there was no order to the images moving outside.