He put on his brown jacket and packed his laptop up in his briefcase. It was pathetic how he had allowed himself to fall so far.He took the subway hom... every night to his lonely apartment in midtown Manhattan. There, no one paid attention to any of the strange faces that passed in the street and every scream was muffled by the sound of the buses honking their horns.He entered a very shabby and dimly lit apartment. He was greeted by his servant, Heather, who was dressed in a form fitting French. Sometimes, he felt like a stranger in his own body, and by jove, he loved the feel of it. He knew he shouldn't. He knew that banishing the newfound wantonness was the right thing to do. At least that was what the tiny voice at the back of his head said.He should be at his study desk, his face buried in some study material, but here he stood by his bedroom window, casting his gaze one story below, at a shirtless Andrew washing his Toyota truck—their truck, actually, since it belonged to the both. More

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