The flutter of possibility

He nervously smoked a cigarette at dusk, before he had to take a shower at his brother's home. The ground beneath him is black asphalt, covered in leaves and cigarette butts, some of them his, some of them not. Leaning on the hood of his car he lifts his hand and inhales, holds, and exhales. The smoke thinning and finally disappearing as it is carried by the light breeze. Thoughts about the girl he was going to see soon, the possibility, the hope, something pure.

The strange coincidence crosses his mind that the date would occur almost exactly a year after the last girl had left him. He shakes the idea off his mind and returns to happier things. Possibility. Hope. Something... pure. The cigarette sparks and bounces on the asphalt before being smothered under the sole of his shoe. He paces the parking lot, continuing to think about the girl. He thinks about the life he lives, how it won't mesh with hers, but the attraction is undeniable. It's funny that this is even happening, being that not just five or six weeks ago she was in a strange relationship, all her own. A boyfriend who was technically an ex, but was still around constantly and also had a problem with her seeing other guys. This being the reason it hadn't happened back then, but that wouldn't be entirely true. They had already gone on a date, but there was the ex, something that neither wanted to really deal with, or talk about.

He glances at his phone, the time he counted on having had slipped from him. Walking quickly across the parking lot to the condo's front door he brought out the ring of keys from his pocket. Gently jingling the three or four rings attached to the main ring, he notices that there is actually only one key. He laughs, wondering who thought they needed to have so many rings for one lonesome key. Entering the condo he notices his brother's roommate sitting on the couch, watching TV, probably the history channel or something. He climbs the stairs to the second floor.

To his left his brother Chris's room, to the right the bathroom and shower. He strips, putting his left foot in the shower he remembers that he should probably shave. Standing there, naked, he shaves his face. There's something strange and unfamiliar about standing in front of a mirror completely nude, shaving. The shower is hot and refreshing, the familiar smell of the fragrances in the shampoo, soap, body wash. Smells he was pretty sure had just been recycled since the beginning of time. Labeled as things familiar or comforting. Exiting he towels himself dry and walks into the room down across the hall. Pulling on his jeans and pulling his white undershirt over his head, then the olive green t-shirt. His skin still moist from the heat of the shower, a mix of water evaporating and sweat. The phone on the dresser blinks and vibrates, the flutter of butterflies in his stomach.