So this may be fun for some of you.
Last night, I was looking for a new sweater online, and this picture came up in the search results:
Like, not the model who’s getting paid for the gig — good for him. I mean, the fictional guy who is wearing this … thing.
You get up to 150 words to tell his story, if you want to do that. Mine is on the other side of the thingy.
The trick was to make a statement without standing out. He needed to blend in, while occasionally drawing someone’s attention. He needed to be vaguely remembered, and that was all.
A new haircut, new shades, a sweet pair of pants that fit just right, carefully-chosen accessories … Blake was ready.
He walked onto the deck at the club, casually avoiding eye contact, purposely walking without purpose. A guy in popped collar Izod lifted his chin at Blake. The arms of a cable-knit sweater made a knot on his chest. The caps on his teeth were beautiful.
Blake returned the silent greeting, and continued past him, making his way to the bar, where the largest cluster of people stood, waiting.
He subvocalized to the advance team, “I am inside the human compound. They do not suspect me.”
The reply resonated in his aural implant: prepare for detonation.