He is wearing an ordinary worn suit, dusty with use. Drab and unnoticeable. He has a worn black book in one hand. His mud brown teeth nibble the stube of a well used pencil gently, as he says to himself. “Sang Hangul, Thurs, 08:47, Radio Zumba, Text WIN.”
He spots Sang straight away. In the lobby of the CMP Bank, the centre of a group or adoring minions. He is laughing, but his smile is aptly cruel. Crisply dressed. Oozing charm and money. Everything about Sang is styled perfectly, down to the £6000 watch. He sighs, knowing how this man makes his money. But he has long accepted that Chance wasn’t always fair, he just preferred it when he was.
He quietly goes over to the coffee vending machine on the lobby and reaching behind unplugs the power. Somehow no one sees him. As the group disperse, Sang heads next door to Coffee Co.after a few kicks and curses aimed at the lobby coffee machine proves futile. He follows San next door. It is busy, there are no seats. Sang, a man unaccustomed to waiting, mutters in line and listens to the murmur of the radio announcing a new text to win competition. He thinks, ‘Fuck it. It’s only a text. Why not.’
He stands in line and looks at Sang; Satisfied if not happy with his work. He crosses off an entry on his book. He scans the next entry hoping this one is just a little bit more deserving. His fingers flick through the wrinkled parchment of the book. “Jane Cole, Thurs, 9:45am, LuckyDraw 07.”
He has managed to grab the last table seat and now as the train's disembodied announcement rings out, he prepares to battle through the crowd. The worn black book he had been studying disappears inside his coat. Luckily the hunched group ahead all exit here and he trails through the crowds easy enough. He stoops down and grabs a scrap of paper off the floor. People seem to part before his unwashed run down appearance. He likes it this way. Makes his job easier. Imagine if people knew who he was.
He makes his way into a beautiful old church. Or rather the fractured body of one, now its hear heart ripped out and replaced with chain 3.49 all day breakfasts and cheap watered down beer. But he can see Jane crouched in the corner. A small and startled thing. Darting eyes and slim fingers that peck at the scraps on her plate. He wades through the mucilaginous floorboards to her corner. Smiling he sits opposite her. She doesn’t seem to mind. He looks at her and sees a sad story. He knows the details intimately just from the wrinkles around her bottomless eyes. The clothes falling off her paper thin body. He realises at once it is not her breakfast she is finishing.
It is so much better on days like this. He looks at his watch. 9.43 perfect. He takes out an used scratch card and slides it across the table.
Smiling, he finishes his drink and takes out his book. No time for breakfast as he scrolsl the endless list of names Shame there is no second Chance, he thinks. I could do with a day off.