The Wrong Facade

Yesterday’s wind was wreaking havoc with my security cameras. Monitoring outside was like watching an earthquake. The black and white screens did not prepare me for Treasa Joyce.

Treasa, the real estate broker, had radiant red hair and stunning blue eyes.

I, unfortunately, had my moustache. Here’s a situation where I wanted to be remembered by her most favorably. Not for official business, but more so for off the clock exploits.

Given my Mc-Creepster appearance, our meeting was painfully proper. She left me a packet containing information on a variety of properties and left.

I retreated upstairs to shave and shower. I didn’t miss a spot this time.

Taking a circuitous route, I settled in at Buffalo Wild Wings for a platter of their traditional mango habanero wings.

Nothing to report, no progress made.

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Good First Impressions

I am expecting a visitor today. I’ve arranged for a real estate broker to stop by and drop off some information regarding properties in the area. The only thing better than a good safe house is a good safe house you were able to acquire at below market value prices.

I haven’t shaved since before I drove north to see Mother. My scruff is beginning to itch. While I know it’s going to hurt, it’s time to shave.

I’ve decided to keep a moustache. Not because it think it’ll look good, but because small changes to your appearance can have drastic effects to someone else’s memory. The real estate broker hasn’t won my business yet. Should I decide not to use their services, I’d rather have their single memory of me as far from accurate as possible.

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