An unfinished story.

Luck means   

being alone    

without ever   

feeling lonely. 

He entered the Restaurant. A fine looking man in his forties, keeping his prominent chin up and presenting his handsome face resting on an immaculate neck, supported by strong shoulders which filled out a sporty outdoor jacket and led to slender loose-fit jeans legs. Almost six and a half feed tall he had just the perfect height without looking ridiculous or overgrown or having to bend his head when entering a door. His eyes therefore also sat high, beaming into his surroundings and seemingly moving the particles around him, almost making them dance; a double laser-show ready to jump at whatever object it was meeting and radiographing the story of their  owner into your biology, a story about a responsibility free life committed only to commitment, a story of happiness.
You could tell by one look or better to say, were told by one look, that he was the man who always knew the right questions to ask and the proper story to tell, but who could also sit in silence for hours or even days without feeling uncomfortable. As he had scanned the restaurant's interior, screened the wooden tables reflecting the soft lights coming from the cloth-shielded lamps, taken in the minimalist Scandinavian decor at the walls, he now finally turned to me.
"I know what you want", I said.
He smiled. Just and simply smiled. No signs of discomfort by being targeted so directly. He was used to it.
"And what would that be?", he asked, still smiling.
"The buffet of course."
Now he smiled even broader. The patterns of the lines drawing his face spoke of a wide sense of humor, of stormy days outside, but went too deep to not also tell of losses and disappointments. They were telling of a life which is being lived by a man who could value the moment.
"Well, you are right", he said now, "How do you know?"
"Men like you always want everything", I answered.
He chuckled.
I was aware of the fact that I was flirting with a man who could be my father. But I didn't care. I was the waitress, it was my job to entertain my guests. I walked around the desk and stepped out behind the bar. He was standing there still smirking, apparently enjoying the doubled attention of not only the woman, but also the waitress in me.
"Well, just follow me. I'll show you paradise", I said and led him to the buffet banquet in the back of the hotel. There exist men you don't want to walk behind you and men you want to walk behind you. He was neither one of them. He didn't make me aware of me wearing jeans in which my curves would show. I didn't feel his eyes weaving invisible ropes around my legs, which would make me stumble. I just simply didn't notice the fact of him walking behind me. He felt so natural with his steps taking immediately the same rhythm as mine, there was simply no cause for neither worries nor displaying gender games. He was a man to walk with.

"Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Walk beside me and be my friend." Albert Camus