11-23-2018, 01:15 AM
A slender palm shaded her eyes from a bleating sun. The Russians called this time of year a sultry spring, but she nestled in the downy line of bright fur anyway. Sunglasses blackened the portals to her soul like onyx curtains, and it was with a supple leather palm that she accepted a tiny cup of espresso and paid the fee with another. Her stomach rumbled as the warmth passed her lips and associated calories summed in her mind like second-nature. She left the cart-man a generous tip, but hardly from the kindness of her heart. There was someone in the building across the street that she greatly desired to know in whose company he would be departing this morning. The bagel man who worked the cart came to an arrangement with Spectra about a month ago. Her daily updates were less than fruitful, but it was only a matter of time.
“How was the ball last night, madam?” The bagel man asked. Spectra paused from sipping the steamy espresso to glare at him, but the flatness of her ire did not penetrate those dark lenses. He cleared his throat, realizing the faux pas and changed the subject. Spectra let him rattle on as she tuned him out. The ball.. one that she was neither invited to attend or able to afford for herself. The tickets sold almost instantly and the secondary resell fees rocketed far beyond her bank account. The Kremlin was a sacred veil she was not able to pierce yet. For her sordid past, she was unwelcome among their self-righteous hypocritical aristocracy.
Such was why she was interested in learning the dirty secrets of the man who lived in the building across the street. The kremlin would not be forbidden to her forever…
“How was the ball last night, madam?” The bagel man asked. Spectra paused from sipping the steamy espresso to glare at him, but the flatness of her ire did not penetrate those dark lenses. He cleared his throat, realizing the faux pas and changed the subject. Spectra let him rattle on as she tuned him out. The ball.. one that she was neither invited to attend or able to afford for herself. The tickets sold almost instantly and the secondary resell fees rocketed far beyond her bank account. The Kremlin was a sacred veil she was not able to pierce yet. For her sordid past, she was unwelcome among their self-righteous hypocritical aristocracy.
Such was why she was interested in learning the dirty secrets of the man who lived in the building across the street. The kremlin would not be forbidden to her forever…