i loved how his suit never really touched his body but just sort of fell on it gracefully. his hat was always cocked to the side just slightly in a manner that made him so boyish when i knew what was underneath the suit was nothing less than a man.

his stride and step were always in rhythm. some days i’d pretend to be sitting on the chair outside of his office just so i could see him walk past me with those same harmonious movements of his legs and arms slicing through the inert building air. it was the same air that would somehow warm when he walked by, just happening upon it like a devine creature sent to deign on my spirit.

it went on like this for years on end. it was better than colour television and freezing cold vanilla ice cream on a hot summer night straight from the newly made refrigerator. it was heaven seeing him walk past me as i sat there spitting out reports with that infernal typewriter while dressed in my polka-dot chiffon dress and my hair coiffed in marilyn monroe waves. even with the temperature falling lower during the fall season, my body heat would rise to levels unimaginable. nothing could tear my eyes from him, the gallant figure in my everyday humdrum of crumpled paper and courteous smiling.

some days i would be impulsive and “accidentally” brush past his striding person, pressing my hands close to the chest of his chocolate brown suit and staring up into his dubious eyes apologetically. he would reach a finger to the side of his matching hat and nod politely. then he’d fix his pinstriped tie and canter away. that’s who i fell in love with those years when one cent candies were still one cent and when ladies and gents knew their roles a bit more traditionally: the man under the suit.

(watching l.a. confidential tonight got me jones-ing for a 50s-style man.)