Date: Mon, 7 Jul 2003 01:38:11 -0700 (PDT)
From: Robyn <wolfhowlin2001@yahoo.com>
Subject: Lives Intertwined (Chapter 1)

Lives Intertwined (Chapter 1)
By The WhiteWolf

	Welcome to Chapter 1 of Lives Intertwined. I trust you have read
the intro. Of course you have. So you know what to expect - in a
sense. This is indeed a short chapter, but don't be deceived by it's size
(haven't we all used that line before?). This chapter will let you into the
mind and life of our first character. Well, let us begin the journey.



	He flicked the ashes of his cigarette and stared out into the
street. The cold air of twilight nipped at his neck but he didn't care. It
was almost time for work.

	Jim works in the mailroom. He has a very dull life and is fully
aware of this fact. He never clocks in early and never works overtime. You
might say he is your average modern working man. Pessimistic as he is, he
manages to wake up every day and decide against jumping off the building
where he works.

	Jim clocks in. He picks up Ron's time card and clocks him in as
well. Ron has always been a friend and confidant. He's always late for
work, but he looks after Jim. Minutes later, Ron does arrive.

	"Jimmmmm-my! Jimbo! Jimster," Ron started out the morning as he
usually does: sickeningly upbeat.

	Jim glances up at the doorway noticing some other co-worker
entering behind Ron, "Jim will suffice, thanks." He takes a quick look at
Ron and then continues sorting the mail.

	Ron pulls out a letter from his coat pocket, "Can you . . ."

	Jim interrupts him, "Coffee first. Talk after."

	Ron hands him his Starbucks White Chocolate mocha. ". . . deliver a
letter to Julie," Ron continues his sentence.

	Without looking up Jim takes the letter and puts it in his
cart. Still looking down at his mail, he takes a sip and then responds,
"She hates your guts, you realize."

	"Oh is that all," Ron laughs, "I guess I'll have to bug her more
often." Ron walks away and reluctantly gets ready to work.

	Jim stops looking through the mail as he notices a letter addressed
to Adam Conner. Jim only noticed Adam a couple weeks ago. A new
executive. Jim couldn't help notice his great features. He was
clean-shaven, had a wonderful head of hair (even those tiny strands that
hang down in front... so adorable), bright blue eyes, and he looked great
in a suit. Although Jim doesn't usually check out the higher-ups, he
couldn't resist this one. There was just something about him.

	"Hey, wake up," barked Rick. The fat slightly balding supervisor
stood over Jim. He had been trained to notice when people were
daydreaming. It's some kind of course they have to take when becoming
supervisors. "You going to deliver these letters today, maybe?" Jim always
hates it when Rick commands him to do something, but phrases it like a
question. It is very condescending.

	"Yeah, I'm getting to it," Jim spoke as he pushed his cart forward
to hand out the mail.  At least he'd get a chance to see Adam. Or so he
thought.

	It was near the top floor when something stopped Jim. Adam's door
was locked.

	"Hey Tina," Jim walked out to the front office on that floor and
spoke to the secretary, "Where's Adam?"

	"Called in sick," replied Tina while chewing her gum.

	"Perfect," Jim mumbled to himself. He walked back over to his
cart. "This day just keeps getting better and better." Sarcasm was his only
friend on today's lonely mail route.

	He couldn't sleep that night. The apartment was filled with the
sound of the next room's headboard slamming against his wall. Of course,
this night shouldn't be different from any other.
	He had been wise to move the picture that was above his bed over to
the adjacent wall. Not being able to drift off in the world of dreams he
got up and looked at the picture - it was of a former lover of his,
Simon. The only reason he kept his picture up was because they had parted
on good terms although never kept in touch. Old loves usually do not.

	Jim looked at the clock display, which read 12:34 am. Just past
midnight and no chance for rest. Walking to his refrigerator he looked
inside. There was some left over turkey, a half- empty bottle of soda, and
a bottle of mustard. Not a pickle jar in sight. All he had in the freezer
was a loaf of bread and numerous ice cubes. Deciding to save the turkey for
a sandwich tomorrow, he pulled out the bread to thaw.

	The computer made a couple whirring sounds as it began to boot
up. Jim thought there was only one place to turn and that was his usual
hunting grounds. Chat rooms. He hardly ever found anything online, but he
deluded himself that this time he would.

	After hours of not being able to find something worth his attention
he was about to sign off (also realizing the noise next door had stopped),
he got an IM from someone he had not seen.

	JR52: Hey there, good looking.

	Jim looked at the message and then at the name. He didn't know a
JR, although that's not an indication that those are his initials. Jim
assumed it was a he. He glanced at the names in the chat room and noticed
JR was not one of them.

	JR52: You there?

	Jim, not to be unkind, decided to respond and a conversation began.

	RichKid8: Yeah, I'm here. Do I know you?
	JR52: Not yet
	RichKid8: Indicating that you want to get know each other, are you?
	JR52: Don't we move fast, Richkid?
	RichKid8: What other purposes would you have for IMing me JR.
	JR52: You never know... a friendly chat perhaps
	RichKid8: Is that your intent?
	JR52: Yes- maybe more
	RichKid8: I could say I'm intrigued, but I don't want to lie.

	JR apparently did not want to continue the conversation as he (?)
stopped writing.  Richkid wasn't surprised. After a while of wandering
about online he signed off and begged for a couple more hours of
sleep. Which he gracefully got, although it was not enough to work on the
rest of the day.

	He got on the bus in the morning and sat down near the front. He
felt eyes were upon him. He looked around behind him but didn't notice
anybody watching him. Jim assumed he was having a case of paranoia and
shook off the feeling. But he was right: somebody was watching him.

TBC