The street outside was covered in shades of grey, the clouds unsure whether they would unleash another torrent of rain from the sky. It was the first dry day of the week, although puddles were still collected at street corners and intersections, I was happy that people had finally put down their umbrellas. At my height, I was always dodging sharp metallic tips wielded by clumsy tourists and the regular rush of pedestrians that filled the streets of Brooklyn in the late afternoon. Checking the clock on my phone, I realized I was running, but then again, when wasn’t I. Picking up my pace, I started to jog down the street, not wanting to be late for the photo shoot I had agreed to do this afternoon. The pay wasn’t much, but any buck helped, and the craigslist ad said he could wear whatever clothes he liked. Hoping to look attractive, I picked out my favorite pair of black jeans, which had a slight sheen to them, which wrapped tightly around my ass and showed a nice outline in the front, if my blood was flowing. I grabbed my old dark green and grey flannel from J. Crew, and slipped on my new Dr Marten’s boot, hoping that the photographer would like my style. Who know’s, maybe I’ll get a new profile pic out of it. I was truly feeling myself when I got into my sexiest pair of underwear, some black sheer briefs that left little to the imagination. I had packed an extra pair of blue jeans and a few black t-shirts just in case I needed to switch it up during the shoot.