I was standing in line at the store when he came in, grabbing a bouquet of red flowers at the entry, and queued up just behind me. He must have been in his late forties, early fifties, maybe; he wasn’t particularly handsome, but looked pretty stylish, wearing a pair of slate-blue trousers, a matching jacket on his arm, with a well-cut shirt of red dots on white. His movements hid an impatience that almost prompted me to offer him my place in the line, even though I had only one item to buy; and I could hardly take my eyes off his smile.

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