My chameleon eyes seemed to be moving in two different directions as I rubber-necked my way down the street. One eye was on the slow moving vehicles in front of me as they settled to a stop like a bunch of shiny beetles that had met a wall. The red traffic light shined down on the wet pavement as rain pounded the windshield. My other eye was oblivious to this, as it stared at the police lady standing at the side of the road. Police women are fascinating.
Her sheriff SUV was pulled to the side of the road to assist a disabled vehicle. She looked to be off-duty, as her uniform shirt was removed to display a tank top and several tattoos scratched into her shoulders. She was leaning over the open hood of the pick-up truck with her hands moving, looking considerably more knowledgeable than the man that owned the vehicle. He was standing idly next to her.
She was a bit of an anomaly because she had a voluptuous shape, but it seemed like an inconvenience to her. As a result, she had decorated her effeminate form with bulging biceps and a butt that looked like a mountainous ledge—firm and shelf-like. Her dark, stitch-straight hair hung down to her chin, but the sides above her ears were shaved to make a sharp line that looked fierce. I kind of wanted to marry her.
Alright, let’s be realistic here. I’m not even remotely attracted to women, I’m already happily married, and if I actually spoke to her she would probably bark an order at me that would be terrifying—but that’s not the point. She was a full-blown, dramatic character. And I just love characters.
When someone has defined clearly to themselves who they are, it shows. It radiates off of them by the way that they dress or their mannerisms. Living in such a state doesn’t necessarily bring happiness, but it results in some mysterious need being satisfied. All people should be so lucky to stand firm in the light as one absolute, clearly defined creature—a character.
You won’t catch me leaning under a hood with my sweaty tattooed biceps gleaming in the red glow of a stop light. Some people aren’t meant to be a character, we are only meant to record them. I can thank Steem for finding this role within me.
So...About That Gratitude Challenge
I stumbled upon this place a while back and thought I would tinker around with it. I started writing about life. I sucked, but I kept exercising the brain and the fingers, and I’ve gotten a bit better. Someday I might actually be pretty good. It doesn’t really matter either way, because I’ve found my voice.
So there you have it 
And who knows, I might get to meet that police woman too. With her cruising around rescuing people, breaking down in the middle of a thunderstorm doesn’t sound half bad.
