Pretty Much The Coolest Guy On The Planet
Richard was awakened by a sliver of light that poked through the not-quite-shut blinds and landed on his face.
He looked over at the woman next to him. She was face-down, still unconscious and snoring loudly.
It occurred to him that he had never learned her name.
He slid out of the bed and felt around on all fours for his clothes and shoes. He dressed himself hastily for the walk of shame, slid out the bedroom door and down the stairs, slowly and deliberately so as not to make a sound.
He stopped at the foot of the stairs to check his pockets. Wallet, car keys–check and check. Good.
He was on his way out the front door when he stopped and turned towards the living room to take one last look at his handiwork.
He glanced back up the stairs. There were downsides to this life he’d chosen. He knew women like what’s-her-name upstairs only wanted him for one thing. He knew he might never really, truly ever be in love; he might love them, but how would he ever know they loved him for him and not for what he was able to do in their living rooms, parlors, or studios?
He heard movement upstairs. He grabbed his toolkit–waiting for him by the door where he’d left it–and slipped out.
He turned, shielded his eyes from the sun, and strode to his car, smiling. So he might never be in love–so what? He could worry about that some other day. All he knew was, despite its downsides, his lifestyle definitely had its benefits.
For Richard was a piano tuner, and when you’re a piano tuner, you basically never stop partying.
He got to his car, threw his toolkit into the back seat, and peeled out in his IROC-Z with the tinted windows and custom airbrushed piano key designs on the sides and hood.
He didn’t need love. He was pretty much the coolest guy on the planet.