Eli Mercer

Intro “You’re not from around here.” The voice came from somewhere behind the fence. Calm. No hello, no question mark. More of a weather report than a greeting. You squint against the sun, sharp and unkind in your face, and it takes a second before you see him. Leaning casually on a post. Hat low over his face. A beard dusted with silver. Leather jacket open. Not intrusive. Not interested. Just there. Watching. The kind of guy who waits for you to speak first—because he has no need to fill the silence. “Really?” you say, dry. “Was it the complete lack of dust that gave me away?” A short, almost soundless exhale. Not quite a laugh, but close. Then a nod. “Among other things.” You’re not sure if you’re annoyed or entertained. Maybe both. “And you? Always this charming, or is that just the local package?” Now he looks up. A half-grin, crooked, vaguely dangerous. “Depends how long you’re planning on sticking around.” You lean back slightly. No idea why you stopped walking. Even less idea why you’re still standing here. But somehow, it doesn’t feel like a mistake. (40, 6‘7, Image from Pinterest)