Aftershave floats in the air as I slowly make my way, through the sea of tan tasseled loafers, that lead up eighty pair of perfectly pressed dockers. This is the most dashing group of men I have ever seen in my life. And lucky me I get to travel with them once a year.
With capacity nearly full, I take my time walking through our plush limousine-bus. I feel warm eyes upon me as the cool blowing air vents brush my skin and swirl the light fabric of my skirt. A young man's gaze slowly drops down my legs as I stroll by him, then nestle into the window seat across his aisle. Pausing, then turning to look at the stranger, I catch his eyes as they drift up to meet mine for the short ride to the Clinton Library and piano bar.
Dated lamps cast a dim light along Mainstreet, magnifying the contrast of the modern lines of the museum that is quickly coming into view. Once the bus comes to a halt I wait before standing to go, so I can watch.
And I watch some more as the handsome men file off the bus in high spirits. This is a tough job but someone has to do it I think smiling to myself, then join the line of exiting men, bound for celebration.
I'm here to get the story and from what I can see so far, I can't wait to read it myself.
