Don't Get Into The Car

[ 1 ]

Simon parks the car across the street from a bustling nightclub, carefully manoeuvring it into a vacant parking space. He leans back into the comfortable leather seat, enjoying the serenity that swallows him once he turns off the engine and tosses the keys onto the unoccupied passenger seat. Cracking open the window, he smells a gentle breeze that carries the faint scent of the city's nightlife.

As he reaches for his pack of cigarettes, his fingers twitch. With practised ease, he flicks open the lighter and ignites the end of the cigarette. Taking a long, deep drag, he feels the smoke fill his lungs. The familiar taste of nicotine lingers on his tongue, bringing comfort to his weary body and easing the tension in his shoulders. In the dimly lit interior of the car, Simon becomes a mere silhouette, blending seamlessly into the cold shadows; passersby, engrossed in their own affairs, scarcely spare him a passing glance.

His deep, dark eyes wander across the busy street, fixating on the rowdy individuals who continuously pour in and out of the nightclub. He has no intentions of going in. These kinds of establishments, where the music blares at an unbearable volume, the air is thick with perspiration and alcohol, and navigating through the crowd inevitably leads to frequent shoulder-to-shoulder encounters, do not appeal to him.

However, he had a keen interest in observing people and their behaviours. Simon finds himself particularly drawn to intoxicated women, who seem to be his preferred subjects of observation. He attentively analyses and judges their actions, paying particular attention to their clothing choices. He notes that many of them choose to dress in short skirts that barely cover their assets, revealing bare backs in flimsy blouses, and exposed cleavages, which guys gawk at without even bothering to disguise their stares.

Simon can't help but question their fashion choices, wondering how they can dress like that and expect not to be groped. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He tosses the cigarette out of the window and then lights another one, oblivious to the fact that a thick cloud of grey smoke has grown inside the car and that the pungent scent of tobacco is sticking to the leather upholstery.

Simon's attention is drawn to a group of men. They appear to be in high spirits, stumbling around, laughing boisterously, and playfully gesturing at people walking by. Suddenly, their focus shifts as they notice a woman with long legs, dressed in a skimpy red dress. She completely steals the spotlight, and one of them even whistles in appreciation, hoping the woman will stop and look at them.

Simon, unimpressed by their behaviour, and to be honest, slightly disgusted, can't help but roll his eyes in response.

His stakeout is growing increasingly tiresome and monotonous. A yawn, filled with drowsiness, escapes him as he sits in the car. His fingers lightly tap on the steering wheel twice before he scratches his chin. The thought of going home crosses his mind, as it is already late, and he knows he has to wake up early tomorrow. However, just as he turns on the engine, causing the car to emit a gentle hum, he takes a moment to stretch out his stiff back, which causes his gaze to land upon you.

As you stumble out of the club towards the solid brick wall, you feel its rough texture against your fingertips and lean against it for support. Simon watches you with piqued curiosity and notices you fumbling with your purse. You pull out a lighter. Intrigued, he pauses and lets his hands drop into his lap. Are you alone? You must be; five minutes pass and no one approaches you.

Before Simon can fully comprehend his actions, he swiftly exits the car and locks it. While fiddling with the keys, he crosses the street and approaches you from the back. You're utterly unaware of his presence. His eyes smoothly glide down the contours of your body. You are wearing a flowy black dress. The fabric hugs your body in all the right places. Your back is exposed. His fingers quiver, and he clenches his hands into tight fists, resisting the urge to caress your exposed skin. Unlike other women tonight, you have chosen practicality over fashionable heels, a decision that may prove to be in your best interest since, based on his observations, walking in a straight line seems to be a challenging feat for you.