Here's Looking at You, Kid

The heavens had opened, and blankets of rain pounded fiercly upon the pavement. This was retribution for my incessant complaining. It had been a long, hot, dry summer; the kind of summer that robs nature of her color, and mankind of his sense of humor.

I was in a cab on my way to the Sixth Street Diner to meet Tiffany, a sorority sister from long ago. I was never that fond of Tiffany. She, like so many of the 'sisters', lived in a world of perpetual ME-dom, where everything and everyone was judged by fashion, money, and status. I was willing to overlook this tiny difference in our character because Tiffany had information I needed for an article I was writing.

I exited the cab and dashed inside the diner.Soaked to the bone, I joined Tiffany at a small table.

"You should carry an umbrella, Kid," she said by way of a greeting. Kid was the nickname I'd acquired in college after a drunken frat boy said I looked like a billy goat.

I nodded as I pulled my notebook and pen from my purse, and then I attempted to 'fluff' my hair.

"You know," Tiffany whined. "If you didn't look like a drowned rat, you'd be kind of pretty. What did you do to yourself?"

I shot her an indignant glare. The bell on the diner door tinkled and Tiffany gasped.

"Oh, my God! I don't believe it." She exclaimed.

I turned to find a tall, dark and handsomely wet man, shaking drops of water from his person. He glanced our direction and smiled. Sweet Jesus in the morning. This man looked like some Aqua-God-Son-Of-Poseidon.

He took a seat on a bar stool at the counter.

"Do you know who that is?" Tiffany trilled.

"No clue," I said.

"That's the actor, Chance Heredon. They call him Here. Oh my God, Here's looking at you, Kid."