Moe pulled himself closer to the dried stain, which had been softened slightly by the soapy solution. He wrinkled his nose and meticulously scraped it off with a scraper, being careful not to scratch the expensive glass. He was annoyed with the pesky birds and the poor building design that did not shield the unique glass dome of the skyscraper.
The outcome was truly remarkable; that was hard to dispute. A massive, gleaming glass droplet seemed to quiver in the almost layered heat-blurred air, evoking a sense of thirst just by its presence. When it rained it looked even more organic, yet the drawbacks were undeniable. Dried bird droppings posed a significant challenge. Using a robot window cleaner was not possible due to the curved surface, and not every industrial climber was adept at managing the intricate cleaning of such architectural craftsmanship.
That’s why strong climbers like Moe could make a killing from this colossal droplet. Moe contently murmured as he entertained this idea, wielding the squeegee, guiding the soap suds down with a squeak. Upon completing one window, Moe reached for the water bottle attached to his belt and looked down - hanging from his harness, there was a bucket filled with window cleaning solution, a squeegee, and a scraper. Moe, considering speed and convenience more important, ignored the safety guidelines that prohibited attaching cleaning gear to the harness.
At the next window, Moe evenly applied the solution, which immediately foamed as it oxidized and dissolved dirt particles. With minimal interest, he glanced into the expansive round office inside the droplet. The big shots seated there were having an increasingly more relaxed conversation, seemingly reaching a consensus.
Judging by the sweaty, pale faces of some of the men, they were having a hard time just like Moe under the scorching sun, with the only distinction being that Moe maintained a serene mindset despite the burning sensation beneath his protective clothing. In contrast, theirs was likely a mental tumult, even as their bodies enjoyed the pleasant coolness of the air-conditioned office. Moe hummed to himself as he began to remove the soapy lather, contemplating how he would never trade places with them. Physical discomfort would go away once he completed his work and took a refreshing shower, but emotional turmoil could not be eased by cool water. There’s a reason why a lot of these fat cats are on meds- downers to calm their nerves and uppers to stimulate their precarious mental state to scale new heights, ideally without breakdowns.
Having finished the window, Moe moved to the next one, glancing at the remaining work—just two to go, and he'd be able to head downstairs to collect his payment. There was just one man left in the office, probably the top dog, sitting rigidly in front of three oversized monitors. With minimal head movement, he swiftly scanned all three screens while typing away at the same time.
Having foamed the glass generously, Moe allowed himself to unwind. He pulled his IQOS out of the pocket, inserted a stick, removed his helmet, shook his soaked hair, and basked in the sun. With arms spread, he leaned back, hanging effortlessly on the harness, puffing with enjoyment. After two hours of work, he savored the first drag. His mind was calm, his muscles pleasantly hummed with fatigue, and the nicotine provided an indulgent pleasure. Though a sip of strong coffee was missing, he felt content without it. Moe mumbled in relaxation, feeling the sun kiss away droplets of sweat and dry his hair. Upon finishing the cigarette, he reluctantly took up the squeegee, swiping the soap foam from the top edge to the middle, revealing the clean, shiny glass. On the third swipe, Moe flinched in surprise—right in front of him stood the very same businessman, the owner of the drop-shaped office, studying him with icy gray eyes.
Moe scoffed, that hawk-eyed asshole saw his smoke. Struggling to stifle an adolescent "Fuck!" under his breath, Moe moved away from the overly confident face. He briskly removed the soap lather, idly pondering whether he might be fined for smoking. Smoking was banned within five meters of public entrances, and there was no entrance here, so the owner of the icy stare could go fuck himself.
He intensified his window-cleaning efforts, aiming to complete the task quickly. Sensing the persistent gaze still fixed on him, he grew irritated. Did the man have nothing better to do? Why is he staring like this? First time he’s seen a window cleaner?
He showed no signs of being in a rush, observing with minimal movement, mostly just turning slightly as Moe swiftly worked with the squeegee. Moe skillfully shifted his feet to avoid touching the precious glass, resting them on the window frames while reaching the unwashed surfaces. The observer occasionally answered the phone, lowering his hand with the phone after each call, and continued to gaze, gaze, gaze. Moe, already drenched from work and the hot sun, felt stupefied under this surveillance, squinting disapprovingly at him. However, the observer didn't even raise an eyebrow, merely turning his body like a flower seeking the sun.
Moe was finishing the final window quivering with anger, simmering with annoyance. The businessman's penetrating gaze was incredibly irritating, as if he assumed the right to scrutinize Moe as if he were his possession, just like that office and everything in it. It seemed that he had been accustomed to having the world cater to his every whim and command since childhood. While cleaning the glass, Moe shot him a fierce look, not concealing his frustration, and tried to estimate his age.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Estimating his age posed a challenge; he could easily pass for either forty or thirty. His well-proportioned facial features gave him a slightly older appearance in his youth but concealed the years in his mature stage. As he aged, he would probably appear younger than his actual biological age. With a robust build, he seemed almost sculpted from stone or ironwood. Effortlessly, he turned and followed Moe to the next window, moving with grace and solidity, unlike the sloppy and fidgety Moe.
Confidence in the future, supported by a substantial fortune, in his own allure and irresistible charm, and in the certainty of his existence contrasted sharply with the uncertainty of tomorrow, with the vague sense that life might be lived in vain. This dichotomy between the two individuals on opposite sides of the thin glass barrier was keenly felt.
Completing the final stroke on the glass, clearing away the foam, Moe unexpectedly saw himself through the eyes of the man on the other side of the glass. He appeared thin, almost bony, with distinct features, particularly the nose, described by Dad as sharp enough to cut bread. Sporting comically large dragonfly glasses adorned with rhinestones – he needed to shield his eyes from the sun and had no other choice, having inexplicably taken his dad’s glasses with him.
A smirk crossed his face as he grasped his newfound awareness of superiority over the window washer. Little did he know that the down-and-out possessed the most important thing – freedom. Unbounded and unrestricted freedom from worldly entanglements. Leisurely and confidently, he removed his protective gloves, revealing wet, sweaty fingers, long and thin like Moe's entire frame.
While the businessman remained fixated on him speaking on the phone, Moe gradually lowered his glasses, unveiling his eyes – his most significant asset. Light danced on his swarthy face, revealing nearly milky-blue eyes, intense beneath the dark fringe of his lashes, sharp and angry to a razor's edge. With a cheeky grin, he parted his lips and cheekily stuck out his tongue, causing a ripple of mild surprise on the imperturbable face before him. Without allowing the surprise to fade, Moe provocatively slipped his middle finger into his mouth gliding it along his tongue to the fluttering tip and thrusting it forward.
The businessman stumbled backward, blinking in confusion. Meanwhile, a triumphant Moe chuckled gleefully. He retrieved his cell phone from his pocket, assumed an air of nonchalant importance, dialed a number, and pressed it to his ear. In a blatant parody of the businessman, openly mocking him, he muttered in a low voice, “Get me down, I am done.”
Leisurely swaying in his harness, Moe pulled out his IQOS, took a deep drag, and mockingly gazed into the astonished face across from him. Then he leaned forward, releasing the smoke into his gray eyes. He sensed that he had emerged victorious in this encounter, conveying the message that not everything remained under the businessman's control – Moe, for instance, was his own master.
While the businessman's initial astonishment gradually dissipated, concealed beneath a veneer of composure, the indifferent gray eyes now held a subtle emotion unclear to Moe – whether excitement or mild irritation. Moe absentmindedly observed that the businessman was indeed attractive, according to Moe’s taste. However, the likelihood of their paths crossing was improbable – they existed on different planes, revolving in parallel universes.
Once descended, Moe promptly dismissed that particular thought, focusing instead on the essential objectives- collecting his paycheck and promptly leaving after a refreshing cold shower.
The paycheck was quickly handed over, Moe was pushed into the elevator that descended to the service area unseen by the affluent and powerful. He was graciously allowed to use the employee showers. Moe gladly wiped off the protective greasy cream from his face. He soaped his body with a pungent chamomile gel to cleanse away the sweat, then turned on the cold water that stung his skin like fire, which made him gasp and wake up. After changing into a T-shirt and shorts, slipping on his Birkenstocks, and roughly combing his wet hair with his fist, he gathered his equipment and sauntered casually to the elevator, contemplating what to eat.
He went up to the foyer on the ground floor, insolently ignoring the request, "Use the staff entrance," and moved effortlessly across the marble floor toward the gleaming, polished turnstiles—opting for the main entrance. Men in expensive suits engaged in hushed conversations, bustling to and from elevators and the outside. Moe, a contrast in his shabby attire against their affluent backdrop, grinned in response to the surprised glances. While they were still sweating and rushing, he was on his way to relax! Suddenly, another martyr in a suit calmly and confidently blocked his way, assuming a posture suggesting no urgency. This disrupted Moe's contented mental flow, and the newcomer grinned just as Moe had a moment earlier.
“Hey there. You're the guy cleaning windows, huh?” the calm gray eyes lifted with a smirk, and a slight smile played on his lips, anticipating a surprised reaction. However, Moe responded nonchalantly,” So?”
“So..." he hesitated for a moment, but quickly regained composure - he didn't climb to the top of the food chain for nothing. “You've got a lot of nerve. Aren't you worried they'll stop calling you to clean these windows?”
“I don't really care," Moe replied candidly, with a mocking tone. “Your windows, you see, are not the only ones in the world. Plenty of other folks are eager for a good scrub. They crave these nimble hands," he displayed his long-fingered hands and shook them in front of the businessman's face, anticipating no resistance. “So, you didn't scare me, dude," and he walked around him, swiping the turnstile with his visitor's card.
“Do you want to make a few bucks?" The businessman approached, his smile growing broader, openly entertained, and Moe was taken aback - was he being picked up now? Like a whore? Holy shit!
“You don't have that kind of cash, buddy,” Moe shrugged, gliding through the turnstiles toward the revolving doors, and reiterated loudly, shaming the businessman for the entire lobby, "That booty is pricey, you can't afford it. Sorry!" and burst out laughing, already outside, teasingly sticking his tongue out at the frozen businessman.