The two men smoked cigarettes in the cold, their breath and the smoke being blown from their lips looking the same in the frigid air. Their cheeks were a pink from the cold, and the rest of their faces were a white that could only be found on albinos and those who lived in a climate that was mostly below freezing a good deal of the year. They seemed accustomed to the temperature, or they could look somewhat comfortable because of their long coats. They stood outside in the deep thickness of the night, and ahead of them the city streets awaited, miserable and full of hope at the same time. The Lexus' and Beamers of the privileged who frequented this district of the downtown cruised by, their occupants dreaming of nothing because they had everything. Behind the two smokers stood the Grand Hotel, tall and handsome in its world class elegance, yet troubled since from the top it could see all the way to the distant slums of the western half of the city. How could it possibly be totally proud if it could see such hell?

"So, what do you think of the fucking game, huh?" one of the cold smokers said, whose name was Lionel.

The other named Henrick laughed disingenuously. "I had money on those goddamn bums, too."

"What are you gonna do?" Lionel rhetorically.

Henrick shrugged. "Shoot that prick Hynes in the fuckin stomach." He meant the coach.

"It ain't his fault he's got fuckin bums playin for him."

"Sure it is."

"How do you figga?"

"I don't really know, man," Henrick replied. He took a long drag on his cigarette, and it warmed him substantially for a few moments. He wasn't disappointed in the warmth's brevity. That was all any sort of pleasure lasted anyway, for only a few moments. "What are we waiting for again?"

"You know."

"I know I know. I just want to hear it again."

"I don't even want to talk about it."

"Some prick I guess we're waiting for."

"He's a queer I hear."

"Bullshit. He's got more girlfriends than any guy alive."

"Yeah, I know. He doesn't like them, though."

"Yeah? You can read his mind or something?" Henrick asked sarcastically, and then he issued a snide chuckle and sucked on his cigarette, which gave him such false hope, like religion.

"I swear he likes guys."

"So? What the hell do I care? As long as he doesn't look at me, I'm fine."

"He can't look at ya?"

"You know what I mean."

Lionel's hand trembled as he held his cigarette, anticipating what he was about to say, "I'm kinda attracted to him."

"I figured that."

Lionel was taken aback, but he tried feebly to cover it up. His companion didn't so much as give him a sidelong glance. He merely looked out at the street, which hummed with auto traffic but not much foot traffic, since it was so goddamn frosty tonight. Lionel swallowed briefly, and then held his cigarette close to his lips. "How long have you known?"

"Since I first met you. You trying to keep it a secret?"

Lionel said nothing. He just looked with slightly nervous eyes at his companion.

"I don't give shit either way. You haven't grabbed my ass yet, so I got no complaints."

Lionel was offended. "I wouldn't do that anyway."

"Don't get upset. I'm just statin fact."

"Do the others know, you think?"

"Maybe. They probably don't care though."

"How do you know? Do you know for sure?"

"No, for Crissake. It's not exactly a topic of conversation, you know?"

Lionel was silent in the fresh, crisp night air of the fortunate city. He threw his cigarette on the sidewalk, and decided to face the frigid night without the aid of nicotine and tar and tobacco. "I'm attracted to him, I guess."

Henrick frowned. "Alright, don't fuckin talk about it. Let's assume that I don't know, and you're tryin to keep a secret or something."

This last comment stopped the conversation for a few minutes. The two stood, and they both eventually stood without cigarettes and with hands in the pockets of their warm coats. The cars meanwhile cruised along, adding that ever-present traffic hum to the city air. Behind them, the Grand Hotel, with its gorgeous rich occupants, stood like a beacon of privilege and prosperity in the middle of the blazing city. Suddenly, as they waited, a whole entourage of people came through the revolving doors of the hotel. The two of them turned, their breath like wispy smoke coming from their mouths. In the core of the cluster of well-dressed men, the man himself stood, perfectly handsome and poised, looking stunning and striking in his French designer clothes that were created for arrogance and turning heads at the best clubs. A few men broke away from the entourage, making sure that enough guarded the jewel himself as he stood totally absorbed in nothing at all but his own vanity. Lionel looked at the godly man protected and perfect, and his heart's pace quickened without his being able to help it. Then, the members of the entourage spoke to him, and his eyes tore away from the icon.

"You guys ready to drive Mr. Fortuna to the destination?"

"By destination you mean the club," Henrick said.

The entourage men ignored his last comment. "We want to make sure you realize how important Erich Fortuna is. We're paying you good money to drive him. Remember your place, and don't talk to him. He doesn't like to talk, especially to people like you."

"People like us?" Henrick retorted. Lionel was too busy stealing glances at the incredibly appealing fashion icon to notice the snide remark.

"People Mr. Fortuna doesn't know," the entourage goon granted.

"All right, no problem," Henrick said with difficulty. He had to swallow his pride for a snob job like this. He wouldn't feel bad for doing it once the check came in. A shame that he had to prostitute himself like this just for a little goddamn money.

"Let's get to it then. The press is expecting him in a twenty minutes." He stood there a minute, and seemed to notice something for the first time. "Where the fuck is the limo?"

"Our guy is coming in two seconds. No worries."

"There are three of you?" He didn't even wait for a response. "Jesus Christ. You'd just better pray he comes soon."

"He's not riding with us. He just has the limo." As he spoke, the long, luxurious limousine pulled up in front of the hotel, and Henrick smiled with no humor. "See? We'll take good care of Fortuna."

"That's Mr. Fortuna," the subservient goon reminded him. Henrick felt like asking him who gives a fuck, but he didn't. Fortuna himself seemed eager to get in the limo, for he walked up to it himself without talking and opened the door and climbed in. Lionel watched him without a word, but there was a reverence in his eyes that anyone would notice if they had been keen enough to look at his eyes. The entourage climbed in after Fortuna, and then the door to the limo closed, and that was it. That was the end of any interaction between the model's crowd and the "simple" limo drivers. Henrick turned to Lionel.

"Shit, I'm surprised that bitch didn't say anything about how we smell like smoke."

Lionel's mouth hung open. He thought he could see Fortuna looking at him through the tinted window of the limo, but he was probably imagining it. He said nothing in response to Henrick's comment, and merely did his job for the rest of the night with this odd, heavy feeling in his heart.

A/N: Don't know what to make of this story. I have been developing a character named Erich Fortuna for a while now, and I wanted to put him in something. Please review!