"Wow... Clash shirt," thought the young intern, mouth agape at a rather skinny but attractive man walking by the reception desk. She spun around in her chair, checking him out covertly behind the computer screen. He looked in his mid-30s, with dark hair and rather eccentric yet sophisticated fashion taste. Somehow the man had managed to make a vintage concert tee look business-like. Immediately the intern was enthralled.
He moved in a way that piqued her interest he held himself well. She watched him as he spoke to a businessman, motioning to some papers. He was articulate, and yet... there was sadness about him. She was sure no one else noticed; the intern had always been quick to pick up moods and feelings from people others dismissed.
"I see Duckie has a new fan?" another young woman with slick, short black hair murmured behind her.
"Duckie, is that his name? Seems to suit him..."
"It does," the raven-haired woman replied. "He's rather popular around this magazine. He's the chief music critic. Very successful."
"Oh really? Well..." and the intern's voice trailed off, her mind wondering of tragedy.
He moved in a way that piqued her interest he held himself well. She watched him as he spoke to a businessman, motioning to some papers. He was articulate, and yet... there was sadness about him. She was sure no one else noticed; the intern had always been quick to pick up moods and feelings from people others dismissed.
"I see Duckie has a new fan?" another young woman with slick, short black hair murmured behind her.
"Duckie, is that his name? Seems to suit him..."
"It does," the raven-haired woman replied. "He's rather popular around this magazine. He's the chief music critic. Very successful."
"Oh really? Well..." and the intern's voice trailed off, her mind wondering of tragedy.