Campaign season always made the office hectic. Printing papers, and handing out glossy pins and clips took up the lot of everyone’s time. Slapping posters onto the cream colored dry walls and hanging up red white and blue banners in the windows as onlookers walked by on the streets and sidewalks outside.

You sat at your glossy wooden desk, ready to direct those to the voting booths while you simultaneously took calls from the telephone. You twisted the cord between your fingers as you jotted down numbers from the shipping company with your free hand.

Someone’s presence approached the desk, a figure most likely looking for where to cast his ballot standing in your peripheral vision. The pen finished copying every letter and number to your yellow sticky note as you put a finger up and toward the figure, as if to say; “I’ll be with you in just one moment”, cradling the phone between your head and shoulder.

The phone clacked as you put it back on the receiver and turned toward the figure. He was back.

He stood, hands rubbing together, clasping and unclasping repeatedly as his elbows leaned onto the counter. His dark hair was parted to the side in an attempt at neatness, the five o'clock shadow still apparent on his soft jaw. He had an old cotton suit jacket on–the sleeves the tiniest bit too short for his arms, leaving his wrists uncovered. He wore navy, denim jeans with a thick leather belt and a white button-up tucked into it, brown toed boots sticking out from the bottom

This was the first time you had seen Travis since walking out on him during your “date”. If you could even call it that.

It had been an anticipated night. You had worn one of your best dresses and done your hair up perfectly, spritzed on your most delicious perfume. He had looked nice too–better than what you assumed he looked in his normal, daily life. Neater. Cleaner.

The theater had reeked of stale popcorn, smothered in butter and sweat. It had only taken the intro of the film to have you walking out with your purse clenched into your fists, Travis following behind you with a confused look.

And now he was here, wanting forgiveness, you assumed. “I was wondering if maybe we could forget about last week–I–I’m sorry about the first time.” You could tell he didn’t truly know what he did wrong though, his dark eyes blinking down at you.

“Maybe we could get coffee this time or eat someplace?" He mumbled out his words in the quiet, slurred-like way he always talked. “C’mon–I really think we have a connection." He gave a wary smile, as if thinking that's all it would take.

Like you would ever give him another chance after he took you to such a…distasteful movie on the first date.