the right woman

He strode the city’s hallowed ground in search of the right woman. He knew not what type of woman she would be, only that her nails would be painted perfectly and her perfume strong, and that she would weep when he approached her with something like gratitude, as she would when he led her by the arm to the small hotel room he retained at discount for just such occasions. She would work him with her hands, the nails gleaming against the white of him, would praise the efficacy of his lovemaking methods, would buy him breakfast afterwards. These were among the many things the right woman would do. He was certain of it.