"I'm beginning to feel susceptible."
~anonymous
He didn't want to go to work. He didn't want to feel sick again. All he wanted was to stay on his couch, warm and sleeping and watching too much T.V. Still, he had put the little money left after shopping and paying very late bills into the bank, and it wasn't enough to live on by any means. Ignoring the rain, he hid under the comfort of his jacket and slipped farther out of his life with every step. The lights seemed even brighter than usual, and he leaned against his corner- thankful for the overhang above. Hood down, he shook out his hair and breathed a shaky breath. He watched the boys in the doorways, flaunting whatever assets they had to try and lure in the steady stream of men that ended up at their end of the street. He eyed them carefully as well, looking for a customer that wouldn't try and rip him off or hurt him or have no idea what to do. Everyone seemed too drawn in by the dry of the houses to really see the boys under the eaves or shadowed on the corners. A few had taken to doorways, filled the sparse seating area at the open bar, or turned away for home. He sighed, thinking about following their lead when someone caught his eye. He remembered that face- moreover those frighteningly dark eyes. The man who had caught him in the alley, heat rising to his cheeks at the memory. He was always careful, never wanted to be caught. But the money and the agreement had caused a lapse in judgment. He felt a strange want in his chest- he wanted the man to go away and come closer at the same time. He wanted to touch that creamy white skin- but didn't want to be touched. Wanted more than anything to run straight home- but even more to stay.