A Most Beautiful Man

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A most beautiful man sitting at the outside window table at Starbucks on Lincoln Road in South Beach, FL. He was dressed casually but crisply and you knew he just threw the outfit on from his closet without a thought; but the black fitted hooded pullover, cargo shorts, the leather flips – blended with his taught defined chest, muscular tanned calves and gentle wisps of just-the-right length arm and leg hair.

His face belied no worries, casual – gorgeous and almost ready for his male model photoshoot – like scores of others on Lincoln Road that day, but I was blessed with sitting not ten feet away drinking in his every pose.

I stared at him briefly – he never looked up from his book or focused on anything other than an occasional blank stare at the cacophony of pedestrians outside.

Just as I exhaled feeling satisfied to be in his presence, but slightly envious of his relaxed beauty – an elderly man – badly in need of a haircut, bath and meal, nervously crept up to his table walking past mine – and carefully pulled out the opposing chair to my Starbucks Adonis and began to sit down; folding himself awkwardly into the space with his complementary ice water, wad of napkins and shopping bags.

The most beautiful man looked up in amazement – not a word was exchanged between them – their eyes must have met for a brief moment and a slight look of disgust flickered in the most beautiful man’s eyes.

And with a wheezing exhale they settled in together from different worlds on an afternoon at Starbucks.

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