The Third Guy

As my well-trained fingers flew across the keys, I briefly noticed a 50 year old man staring at me behind my back. Unlike most of his peers, he was very fit, and the only sign of his age was the wrinkles on his forehead.

He seemed familiar. Then again, most people seem familiar to me. They have to. It’s a job requirement.

As I watched him approach, I closed my laptop, sipped my dry martini, and got up to leave, attempting to stop him from getting a good look at me.

Something about this guy wasn’t right.

I had almost reached my Ferrari when I felt a heavy tap on my shoulder.

Someone was a little unsteady after a few too many drinks… I thought.

I turned around to see the man I had noticed on the beach standing behind me.

“Yes?” I asked, politely trying to say that I was busy.

“Don’chi know ya from somewheres?” he asked, with his tongue a second behind his mouth.

“Perhaps you do,” I curtly answered, and was about to turn around when I realized who he was.

This man was the third person on my list!

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