Write on Wednesday: 3

The Write On Wednesday Rules: Get creative with the writing exercises - there isn't a right or wrong. Please do try to visit the other members of Write On Wednesdays and leave a comment. You can grab the button for Write On Wednesdays from my sidebar.

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 15 - Give yourself some time to notice the people around you. The people who may cross your path each day. The lady in front of you at the supermarket, the man who helps the school kids cross the road, a neighbour, a waitress in a cafe, a librarian, anyone at all. Choose one person, someone you don't know, and this person will become the basis of the week's writing exercise. Describe this person as you see them, describe their surroundings. Then imagine a problem, create conflict for this person. Describe the conflict. Describe how your character deals with the problem. The conflict might resolve itself, it might not. It is up to you. Perhaps, the lady in the supermarket has forgotten her wallet. Does she bursts into tears? Maybe the librarian finds a lost child. The aim is to show how your character responds to conflict and in the process, reveal something about that character. Tell us their story.

I'm in the middle of editing a few movies so I don't have any time to leave the house but fortunately we're having our living room rebuilt and the workers are running around the house. 
Here's my description: 

He was the type of man who exemplified his job.  A working man, a builder. His large, paint-stained overalls were almost lyrical in their resemblance to a youthful cartoon. Although he was not a tall man, he made up for this in width, his round belly held back by a dark, worn out leather belt. Added to this was a large red shirt from which hairs extended up onto his neck, contrasting with the lack of any on his almost completely bare head. His dirty overalls were half zipped up, a pencil and pad sticking out of the front pocket, always prepared for his overactive hands that demonstrated his every word with large movements. His RayBan glasses, his only sign of frailty, were counteracted by the stud that pierced his brow. But that frailty stayed in the kindness of his eyes and softness of his voice. A voice that was barred by the ever present cigarettes which he puffed without rest, breathing in the smoke as he spoke in a quick southern french. It was only to demonstrate a book or a plan that he would abandon his sizzling friend to the dark ashtray that the owner of the house had lent to him. 

It was a lovely house, large and old, the kind of house that could be haunted and you would take it for granted. It seemed logical considering all the people that had been in and out through the years. But ghosts aren't a builder's friend, not when the cigarette and its ashtray seem to disappear and the new chandelier is making strange noises. One thing at a time, he had a simple mind like that, a real southern man he didn't like to push himself to do things. If he had to do it, it would get done. So he patted himself down, checked every pocket, checked behind his ear and even went so far as to exit the house to check his van. No cigarettes, forgotten perhaps on the desk at home. 

It was, after all that, with a fidgeting hand that he then climbed up the ladder to check the vibrating glass of the chandelier. A masterpiece of colorful glass, from Venice no doubt, yet it lacked the appeal of his lost cigarettes. A frustrated grimace lined the lips that missed their long time friend.  

It was at that moment that his wife, and partner, entered the room. Noticing his climb she grabbed hold of the ladder to steady him and couldn't help a saucy grin and a quick compliment. Forgetting - as he always did in her presence- the need for any other reassurance than her company, his laughter filled the room and resonated in the thin glass. The chandelier stopped vibrating and any strange noises cease. He hesitated a minute before climbing back down to his wife, he could smell that the cigarette was back on the table where it had been earlier but he kept his eyes on his wife. She grinned at him and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket, he had forgotten it and she had grabbed it for him. 

He placed the cigarettes on the table and brushed her hair out of her face. His hands were delicate and careful, like he hadn't been a builder for all his life, like it was something he had discovered. He planted a kiss on her lips and their laughter resonated with the delicate glass chandelier above.