By Chance

Chapter 1: The Meeting

The protesters are probably the most interesting thing around city hall all week. I've been taking up a space on the stairs leading to and from the tall, wooden doors. My usual sketch book is sitting in my lap as I draw the scene of the angry mob standing just thirty feet from me.

I know what they're here for. The crowd of angry citizens only come out from their hiding places to battle against the mayor and the people passing a bill or new law. What new law could they possibly be fighting for or against? This certain group of people across all ages are protesting against the new legalization of gay marriage law.

I begin to fill in more detailed features on the mobsters raging faces.

"What about our children?!" One woman yells, holding up her side of a banner higher into the air. "Why would you do this to us?"

With a roll of my eyes, I fill in her cartoonistic lips which overpower every other feature on her face. I continue to sketch the people marching around the bottom steps from the morning to night fall when the crowd dies down.

Packing up my belongings, I shut my sketch book and tuck my shading pencil behind my ear. I stand up, looking around at the city's bright skyscraper lights and the throngs of people scouring the streets. I make my way down city hall's steps and onto the sidewalk, on my way back home.

As I pass the lively, colorful shops, my reflection becomes more apparent than what it looked like this morning. My brown hair cut short is slightly side swept. I've been meaning to go the barber shop under my apartment to cut it, but I've been busy creating a large portfolio for my pieces. My blue eyes hold a certain mystery that even I don't know what it is. I pull my beanie down on my head further, tucking more of my hair into it. I mean, I'd say that I am a fairly good looking guy, no matter what the others told me back in high school all those years ago.

"Hey, move along!" A loud voice yells in my ear. Flinching away from the voice, I see an old man standing behind me, in the flow of traffic, with a hunchback.

"I'm sorry, I was just-"

"I said move out of my way, you queer." He hisses, holding up a sign similar to the ones the protesters held. Great, an old, traditional, stuck-in-the-past, homophobic man.

With a roll of my eyes, I move out of the man's way and enter the shop I was staring into unknowingly. It's an antique, vintage shop. Old wooden cabinets with intricate designs weaving between each other and finish off in blossoming flowers. I always tell the owner of the shop that the wardrobes and dressers from the late eighteenth century are what's in right now in pop culture. Rustic and old classical pieces are all the rave and are selling out everywhere in stores.

"Say, do you think you could put this on hold for me?" A deep voice speaks from somewhere behind me.

My ears perk up at the sound of the man's voice. It sounds so damn sexy and smooth. Like thick caramel mixing with the sweetest of chocolates. It's almost perfectly similar to the sound of a breeze carrying through a meadow filled with the most colorful abundance of flowers, each one more exciting and breathtaking than the ones before it.

"For how long?" The shop owner questions, most likely from behind her counter.

"At least a week," the man explains, his words and tone like music to my ears.

"Oh my," she sighs. "I'm not sure I can keep it off the shelf for that long."

"Please, ma'am."

I almost chuckle when he calls her ma'am. I once called her that the first time I walked in here and I got a firm scolding followed by a free pin from around World War II. Funny enough, I wear that pin everyday on my jacket's collar.