This morning she looked up from the new Claritin spread and considered the male species inhabiting the work site opposite her office window. Was she fickle? Was her life lacking from the lack of a partner or a mate? Was her life to be measured and weighed on such a standard as that?

                She rose to her heels, the Sketchers having been placed in her drawer upon arrival for the more elegant and professional single inch heels she kept there. She strode forward to consider this problem in a more clerical light. She stopped in front of the plate glass window to consider the philosophical implications of the matter at hand. All the while trying to spot the muscle bound brunette who occupied many a coffee break in the eyes of the women in the office. He was prone to unbutton his work shirt and climb up a scaffold and sit with legs swinging as he and any number of buddies would consider the finer points of the female anatomy walking by on the street. It was hard for her to feel incensed at this blatant objectifying of women when the same was treating him much the same way- herself included.

                Her hunk was, however, not there. No one was, the site stood empty. Disappointed, Vanessa crinkled her brow and was about to turn away when she saw the man on the street in front of the site.  There was something about him that made her pause. What was it exactly?  She frowned as she focused on him. He was looking straight at her. There was no way he could possibly see her through the mirrored glass. That was why she and the other women were so open about doing it at the agency; the windows offered the anonymity that was often required for ogling.

                There was at once nothing remarkable about the man. He had dark brown hair and a full frontiersman beard- chops and all. He wasn’t muscular nor was he particularly fat. He wore a red plaid shirt with faded blue jeans and work boots. She knew without seeing that if she walked down there and gazed into his eyes that they would be hazel gray. She also knew that the eyes would show a deep experience that was beyond her imagining. He held her gaze for a long moment before he spoke.

                She heard him speak even though the window was pretty much sound proof.  She heard his voice as clear as if he were standing in the room with her.

                “It is about time to go, are you ready?”

                Vanessa blinked several times, but he was still down there looking up at her. She had heard the words, right? He had asked her a question. How could she know that, there was no way to have known it and yet she did?  Nervously she took a step back away from the glass but the question remained clear in her mind.

                “Are you ready?”

                Ready for what? Why would she need to be ready for anything? Who was he and what did he want with her? And why did she feel as if she should know him?

“You keep talkin’ but won’t slow down; it’s the same old story.” She sang softly to herself as she pondered what to make of the strange man on the street below. She gave herself a mental shake and shrugged before turning back to her desk.

                Phil Collins kept asking “Why doesn’t anybody stay together anymore?” So she sang with him as she sat down back in front of her monitor “I don’t why…” Pandora was really a wonderful idea unlike the double page spread on Clariton. She clucked her tongue, tired of the dull ad idea as Phil Collins confided in her as to what he had to say on the topic, but she was ready for something else, something new, and someone else.

                “It’s the same old story.”