What could Blake say? He was some semblance of a man, not necessarily a boy, despite his boyish looks. Now, that's not to say he was a boring stiff, he had his own little charm that was something childish. He just didn't immediately take offense to small accidents or slights or try to instantly land himself in the nearest girl's pants. For one, he highly doubted he could fit those pants since so many girls loved themselves some skinny jeans.

You knew you were sinking to a new low in life when a paper card was telling you to step back for a new perspective. Sure, it was a step above being told by a Hallmark card, these bizarre Tarot cards, but he never really put much stock in them â€" both Hallmark and tarot- to begin with; maybe they knew and that's why they chose to assault him from behind. "Somehow I'm finding that less comforting, though that may have something to do with the fact I came here to try to get away from having to do that whole 'perspective' thing."

Now that his fingers were free, he subconsciously sat there rubbing his thumb between the first and second fingers on his right hand, the left holding the glass loosely on the table. It was a habit he had started to develop over the last two weeks in his continual battle to quit smoking. He'd been a smoker since he was sixteen years old, something he picked up quick from his family. Nearly everyone in the family smoked, except their mother, at some point in their life, some still did. This was his third and, so far, most successful attempt to quit the habit. That's not saying he had been 100% clean, oh no, he'd had several slip ups, especially when he was drinking since that was when he always smoked. He always had himself a glass of whiskey or scotch and a smoke. It was the Holmes traditional choice. Now, here he was, craving a cigarette something terrible and rubbing his fingers, at least when he wasn't dragging his thumb nail (nub) against the skin.

As she (you know, he was starting to realize he hadn't a name to put to a face) leaned toward him, Blake remained positioned upright. He was certainly interested but liked his personal space. You learned how valuable that was when you grew up with none. Hm, interesting question. He had no real perspective to share in anything. Not really, anyway. "Well," He began, leaning across the table to help close the distance, though not so close to invade her space, "While you were successful, you don't need to throw cards at the back of my head to get my attention. A simple hello would have worked." He flashed a grin before flopping back in his seat, making at least one last dig on her methods.

Yes, if she was hoping to gain some deep new insight from the fellow, she would find herself out of luck. He was probably the last person capable of giving her anything other than the ramblings of a man with too many words and no direction.

"I'm Blake, by the way."