Dylan Murphy<br/><b>Location</b>:  GP Condo Unit 602 and first floor Split Bean<br/><b>Tagged</b>:  People at the Split Bean<br/><br/>Narration in voice of Dylan Murphy<br/><i>" I know what you are thinking. I know it and you are wrong.  Just because two grown people have fun together after one of them being a client for the other, and because they keep offering to buy expensive gifts, it doesn't mean we aren't just friends. <br/>
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"I mean sure, she offered to give me the condo as a gift, but I insist on taking as business income and paying taxes on it, of course I also write most of it off as an expense.  You would be surprised how many high dollar divorces happen inside these walls. <br/>
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"And yeah sure, she might be a few years older than me and normally I am seen with younger women.  But she is a terrific lady and still hot.  <br/>
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"So none of this makes me a gigolo. Not really"</i><br/>--<br/><br/>Dylan went on with his occasional inner dialogue and mental mantra as he got into the shower after hitting the weight bench in his living room.  He was sweaty and he needed to get the salt out of the hairs on his chest if he was going to have any chance of smelling human and not like a cro-mag.<br/><br/>Still, he didn't have time to linger, no Hollywood shower today, he thought back to how his dad would have put it, him a lifer in the US Navy, a Master Chief. Most of the kids had taken nautical jobs.  One brother followed him into the navy, while another practiced Admiralty Law - a rather lucrative niche to be sure.  His sister  worked on a cruise ship.<br/><br/>And then there was  Dylan.  He took a job with the Port Authority Police, but eventually transferred to the bigger action and brighter lights of the Big City.   Oh well, a man has to follow his course.<br/><br/>He was so lost in thought he had missed paying attention to  his routine of getting dressed and had wandered into the elevator already.  At that, he paused and took very careful inventory of what he was wearing - a dark blazer, a muscle shirt, black jeans, and black Samuel Hubbard oxfords, a heck of a lot more comfortable than tactical boots how would normally have worn back as a cop.<br/><br/>While he was glad he wasn't out in just his boxers. He probably could have used to shave this morning too.   But apparently his need for caffeine was strong enough to take over as a sort of rudimentary autopilot , he was glad he at least brushed his teeth first. He finally made his way into the Split Bean, went to the counter.  Coffee, medium roast, 1 cream, no BS.  No Machiato, no caramel, no froth.<br/><br/><br/>Only after the life-giving infusion of the brown ambrosia into his mouth was he capable of social pleasantries like acknowledging other patrons, at which point he noticed there seemed to be a lot of women in this building.  That was definitely not a bad thing, though he suspected he might have a hard time getting people to watch football  games with when the fall came.  He could play hipster, at least in most things, although not his morning coffee.  But in truth he was blue collar .  But nothing was to say a Blue Collar Man can't enjoy the finer things from time to time, either.