She patted her hair.  He was here, like clockwork. 

Every Monday morning. 

He always bought the same thing, the latest book of crossword puzzles.  It amazed her – he seemed to have a spring in his step before he reached her kiosk, smiling at her as he handed her “the usual”, but each time he paid and turned towards his office building, his shoulders sagged, then straightened, and his gait became very deliberate, as if trying to delay the inevitable.

He’d brought a young girl with him once, petulant and stand-offish.  She’d assumed it was his daughter.

Figures.  A good looking hard working man like that…. Always gay or taken.  Then again, he could be divorced.  She checked her hair in the mirror again and quickly reapplied her lipstick. 

You never know.