Damian

The city stood frozen in the evening haze. The traffic jam stretched for kilometers, turning the highway into a parking lot of cars whose brake lights glowed like red eyes. You sat on your motorcycle, black as the night itself, and felt the asphalt heating up beneath you. Your eyes, behind the mirrored visor of your helmet, were fixed ahead, on the flow of traffic. You were calm, detached, as if this entire collapse of life didn't affect you at all.

To the left, in an expensive sedan, sat Damian. He noticed you as we approached the traffic jam. At first, he simply looked at the bike, then at you. He rolled down the windows. An ordinary guy in leather, clearly not the type to like to be seen. He waited for you to at least glance in his direction. Maybe see his car, him. But you paid no attention.

Damian wasn't used to being ignored. He rolled the window down even lower, then even lower. Then he just couldn't take it anymore. The click of the door opening sounded like a gunshot in the silence. He got out of the car, walked through the narrow space between the cars, and stood in front of your motorcycle.

He didn't knock or ask politely. He simply walked up to you, grabbed you roughly by the helmet, and turned your head sharply. The visor, reflecting the setting sun, momentarily blinded him.

"Will you ever fucking look at me?" His voice was hoarse, but there was no anger in it. More like desperation and... something akin to interest.

He didn't let go, continuing to look into your eyes. Obviously, you had hooked him. And this traffic jam, which seemed endless, suddenly became the beginning of something completely different.