She felt the heat before she saw the man.
Head bowed, the seven foot beast crouches in the entrance of the subway car. His tawny dreads are braided and wrapped into a handsome bun at the nape of his long mahogany neck. He brought with him a dry heat that sucked at the New York City summertime humidity.
The sounds of the subway intrude. The noise and bustle of W4 station, the F train, assail him. A high pitched bing announces that the doors will close in seconds. He moves forward an inch. His head tilts up, golden wire rimmed glasses flash as the chrome doors slide close behind his stout figure. His massive frame is wrapped in a specially tailored charcoal Armani suit. His silk black tie is held in place by a gold tie clip.
His strides have a lazy, educated danger to them. He stops mid-car and looks directly at her. She pays him no mind but the children, the children look up and see the beast. They gasp and giggle. They play around him and poke fun at his height. They want to be beastly big and rich like him, they giggle and gasp.
He bares it with dignity. With a proud glitter of a smile in his honeyed brown eyes and with a low rumble in his chest he growls softly, “It is not the heights that your body might reach that you cubs should be aware of. It is the height of your mind.”
He was a Lion.
There is a secret beach somewhere in Crete. Only a few have been in its waters. That was the color of the eyes that met his. The Lioness had finally acknowledged the Lion.
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/35796663@N06/3766323539″>The Lion King</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>(license)</a>