#c;zosia

[mason-janes]

@zosiasolo

                  The hand that found ground on his bicep was foreign, and in the very least: unexpected. He could feel the flushed heat from its bony frame through the wool of his suit, enough ‘might’ applied to send the plucked green grapes on his small appetizer plate rolling. But it was then when he looked, did surprise become amusement. It was the same lady who’d approached him prior, twenty minutes ago upon entering, and there were four definites about her nature: she had already consumed a little too much champagne, she was twice his age, her dress, deluged in gems left no room for modesty, and a band, diamond and sapphire coruscated boldly on her left ring finger. Mason stepped to the side, away from her, as she lingered close and began speaking of indulged lavishes, beginning by asking him if he’d ever been on a boat bigger than most houses. He tried to hide a smile, giving her the clear but timid answer of ‘no’ before he looked up and over, finding the gaze of perhaps the only person he knew or would ever want know in the building. He gave a quick smile, smug and amused as if an inside joke was exchanged, and it was, in fact, a communication of the eyes. He raised his head in such a way that subtly signaled for her to come over–– to cause an interlude.

[mason-janes]

@zosiasolo

                Baskin-Robbins. The melting pot where eager children and their parents met the desolate eyes of underpaid teenage workers. Not that it wasn’t quality. Of all the ice cream parlors in the city, Robbins ranked rather high on the scale from store-bought gallon Country Charm to hand-churned Gelato. It was fair–– the service was fine and the place was tidy enough, and more anything, it was casual. And Mason Janes had needed casual, specifically because he was meeting someone there. A girl, one who’d he’d once before in nothing more than a brief, carnal context, and one who he wanted to see again. There too many blanks to fill in, including her last name, and though the two had messaged each other once or twice since the initial physical meeting, he had never been one big on technology, nor did he have a clue what the ‘iCloud’ was. To see someone face-to-face was when respect was formed, pieces of information remembered and sentiments recognized. And he wouldn’t mind recognizing her again. Or her blue eyes, inky with the color of Robin eggs and Gentians in the spring, and it may sound cretinous, but he couldn’t recall ever seeing eyes so pure azure–– at least not here. But the drive of asking her out for an expensive non-expensive treat was primarily collaborated of two things: the interest in a possible friendship and the urge to not be the asshole that only ‘hit her up’ for nude pictures.

                So, here they were, and after paying for both of their scoops he made way for the door to an outside table under the awning of the cement structure. Inside it was far too cold, at least for the southern boy, born and raised with the sun beating on his back. He’d take heat over cool any day, but before that even courtesy came first, and before even grabbing for his chair he turned around, catching her attention, “Is it alright if we sit here?” He inquired, his Vanilla Bean cone already forming a drip around the uneven rim of the scoop, “I know it’s warmer than usual today...–– A little too warm for New York,” A smile pulled at his lips as he raised the cone to his mouth, eyes on her still, “I mean, I can’t imagine what the tops of those skyscrapers are takin’ in right now. You could probably fry an egg on the roof of the World Trade Center in about ten seconds flat.”