Paul looked over his chunky white faux-nhs glasses and dexterously tapped into his iPad carefully ensuring his Starbucks Doppalamochafrappicino was not shedding any of it's none-coffee like contents anywhere near his delightfully-enviable mid-brown moccasins.
"He'd read and helped enough of thetownend.com today," he told himself. He looked around seeing everyone bathed in envy. He gave a pleasing, if slightly conceited, porcelain aided smile as he placed his most recent Apple marketing exercise into his man-bag. As he did so, he ensured those nearby were treated to a glorious view and were able to marvel in something so advanced, so simple, but paradoxically so much like a massive phone, without the ability to phone.
He then purposefully rose to what felt like a statuesque 9'3" and looked down at the counter-cow, winking as he left. He knew he'd worked his magic. She knew he had an e-penis that had true clout, a might beyond mortals, a brilliance beyond imagining. He looked down at his Storm watch, thinking at what a fantastic "unbargain" he'd acquired from within the pages of the mildly readable, teen-mag, FHM.
The time was 08:51, his office would be preparing for his 9:00 arrival. They always did, although his colleagues hid their delight well, he knew beneath a hard and hate covered exterior, that deep down all his fellow work-mites revelled in his arrival. He felt he was like the sunrise and they were the dew covered fields. He was like a leader, a prophet, a man beyond flesh, a man beyond talent, possessions, work, everything. He was new. Incredible, amazing. He was an iMan.
