Koke is almost a complete difference. He's hopeful though that he can be a complete one.
He has a complicated personality that's frequently on test by those around him. That's the price he has to pay to prove that he's extremely or eccentrically dis...
The following evening, Koke is back from work suitably early and he's doing everything in a rush. The speed at which he unbuttons his white shirt and literally kicks his trousers off his limbs is a clear indicator of excitement for whatever he's up to this evening. Once he gets into the bathroom and turns on the shower, his movements slow down when the first sprinkles touch his ebony curls. The streams run from beneath his hair down to his neck and further down his natural warm undertone skin. He breathes slowly and heavily as he gets wetter by the second.
After freshening up, he gets into a green polo shirt and orange-yellow fitting cargo pants.
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He majestically walks to the kitchen, which is on his far left opposite the living room. He observes the place for a moment before he starts working himself to a rare evening. He opens several cabinets from which he sources pans and other equipment before cutting the vegs. He sprinkles some salt and brown spice powder into the grey pristine pot with presumably steak broiling in it. Every move of his in the kitchen is dressed with self-assurance and grandeur. He looks like a culinary school student showcasing his skills at a competition or exam. His apron is white and the strips are restless at his lower back thanks to his up-and-down movements of squatting to get something from the lower cupboard section and standing again. He checks on the rice, the steam coming out like a cloud but that terrifies the accountant not.
Minutes later, his actions look braked as he slowly with care turns the three sausages on the frying pan.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
He frowns, his eyes still on the sausage stir fry. He pauses a bit with his frown still ardent. He looks over his shoulder towards the tawny wooden door for seconds before he refocuses on what he's preparing. His expression is beginning to settle.
Another knock.
His countenance from seconds ago returns and this brings him to a halt again, whilst the meat continues to sizzle amidst the silence. He looks to his right at the kitchen surface and to his left, still on the same surface. He perceives a knife. He reaches for it on the far end of the counter. A sharp slender tool with a black handle.
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