"Maybe I should." He replied.
His father left the office, after telling Bradley he was going to Tinos if he wanted to join. For a moment after his father was gone Bradley stared at the papers arranged all over his desk. He let out a long sigh, and began typing on his computer
gay muscle man gallery again. Slowly he worked the papers into a respectable pile, and decided to leave it for the next day.
He got up from his desk, grabbed his coat and gloves, and shrugged them both on, walking out of his office. While he walked, Bradley watched the ground passing underneath his feet, thinking about things that were important to him. Phil Maher greeted him in the hallway, wearing his hard hat and boots. Phil worked in the loading dock, he
gay muscle man gallery and Bradley were friends during high school. Not close, dear friends, but they hung around together periodically.
"Bradley, whats happening?" Phil smiled at him, looking at Bradley passed the brim of his hard hat.
"Hey Phil," Bradley replied, "going home early. I have a nasty headache
gay muscle man gallery. You
e not working to hard are ya?" Phil laughed sincerely, as if he seriously thought it funny that he would work hard.
"Hell no man, working too hard is what makes you old," Phil replied.
"I guess so. Hey, buy your wife some flowers tonight okay? Shell love it, I promise." Bradley said
gay muscle man gallery, walking backward toward the exit. Phil thought about it for a moment, and gave a slightly nod.
"I think I might do that, she loves fire and ice roses." He smiled, looking at the ground slightly
gay muscle man gallery, images of his wife running into his mind for the first time all day
gay muscle man gallery.
"There it is. Have a good one Phil." Bradley gave a slight wave, and opened the exit door.
"Thanks Brad, Ill see you around." Phil turned and continued walking down the hallway toward the break room.
- -
Bradley got off the subway a block away from his home, on his way he was planning on stopping at a Mexican restaurant he went to frequently when he felt his head begin to pound until he was seeing spots. He slowly kept walking, putting one foot in front of the other, the closer he got to the restaurant, the more his head beat, as if his brain was throbbing, making all his nerves fire electricity through all his feelings. A few feet from the restaurant, he saw a couple standing close to the front door. It was a man and a woman, arguing furiously with each other. The woman was brunette, Hispanic, normally she had soft eyes, but at the moment they shot lightning at the man she saw in front of her. The man was also Hispanic, like the woman he was in his mid thirties, dark hair, a few inches taller than Bradley. Back and forth they yelled at each other, topics spewing out ranging from money, to late night habitual partying, weekend drinking, unemployment. The woman was angry that the man never had any money, and the man was angry that the woman always went out late to party with her friends.
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