An Audience with the pope. 
 
When the sun rose leisurely and in a manner that pleased him, it seemed today would be a day for progress. He felt it in his stomach, like that feeling you get when you know your name is coming out of the raffle box or that book you wrote is going to get a Pulitzer, call it a sixth sense or a trick of the mind but Jack knew that if he stepped outside the door it would take him closer to fulfilling his destiny. Pulling a suit jacket casually over his tee shirt, he checked his profile in the mirror, he could see himself on the pages of GQ magazine or Style. He was the picture of the straight but slick mans fashion, the new urban man with a caption that reads "Worlds sexiest man". He pulled up the back of his jacket ever so slightly, not to see if his bum looked too big in his jeans but to see if any labels were sticking out. His bum did look quite good though, not that it was important, but he was sure it would win him a Calvin Klein contract someday, his ass plastered on billboards across the world, covered in tight slight transparent white boxers with a black elastic and the letters CK written boldly in white. Not that he lay awake at night thinking about his own ass, and wondering how many squats it would take to bring it from a nine and a half to a ten, he wasn't gay or anything. 
 
After a sufficient time exfoliating and moisturizing his skin, checking his hair and perfecting his walk, he arrived at the café. He quietly took his seat, remembering to smile at the girl reading Marie Claire on a couch seat by the window. She was always there at that time, twirling her hair around her finger and often sketching babies in prams. Jack liked to observe her. She held her cup in a way that would be interesting in a movie and always dipped her biscuit twice despite the fact that it always got too soggy and fell into the cup. He liked watching her rescue soggy sugar and crumbs and eat it with a spoon, blushing lightly and looking around to make sure no one saw. She was an interesting case study, not that he was stalking her or anything. If he was forced to, he would "do" her but he wouldn't say he fancied the girl, she was someone he watched for career purposes. Once he tried to talk to her but realised mid greeting that to be a true student of behaviour and mannerisms he could never converse with his subject. Then she would become a real person, he could longer be objective, it was better this way. 
 
Jack ordered a skinny latte and asked if they could make it with Soya milk, he read an article about the lactose intolerant western world and the various disease Soya prevent like breast cancer (not that he could get that- his pecs were pure man, nothing womanlike about them). The waiter dismissed his request explaining that soya curdles when hot so he turned his attentions once more to the girl. She lived around the corner from him, in a house full of 20 something year old girls with hair extensions, nail extensions and lash lengthening mascara. She seemed deep, though she did have a weird baby-drawing obsession, but maybe there's depth in that. He could see her as his prop bride on a movie screen, gazing adoringly from the side of the screen as he stared into the distance with a faint glimmer in his eyes repeating the lines that would immortalise him and win him his first Oscar. If only she'd stop drawing those strange babies.