He stood at the northwest corner of Mercer and Prince, beneath the somnolent embrace of a turbulent sky. The licorice alligator tote, tamed by Bottega Veneta, idled at his tranquil side, whilst the similarly nectarous cap-toed shoes paused over the saturated curb, awaiting favorable conditions to proceed toward the adjacent lane.
As a black sedan swept along the aqueous SoHo way, Maxwell tarried patiently, the brisk morning air in a fancy with his lungs. Despite the slight drizzle, his navy blue single-breasted, Prince of Wales suit, composed of light wool, along with a blue French-cuffed, high-collared Houndstooth patterned shirt, fastened by an amber silk tie, replete with floral prints, all imagined by Tom Ford, provided silken solace from the aquatic onslaught.
There was a considerable delay between the traffic and pedestrian signals, which allowed him to contemplate the endeavors of the day. He was to encounter the Russian industrialist, Viktor Aleksy Chernov, at the offices of Mulberry Design to discuss a series of concepts for the gentleman’s recently purchased New York residence at 68th Street , between Park and Madison Avenues. He was also scheduled to meet with Neil Horowitz, though the details of this encounter were far less determined. There would be lunch with his wife at Le Bernardin, which would also provide refuge from the culinary toil and endless entertaining of her own, with the benevolent Giancarlo Franceschi in town.
A lucent raindrop, attracted to his aureate cheekbone, redirected his thoughts, imploring him to the now.
With the IWC Schaffhausen Yacht Club Chronograph at his wrist, Maxwell observed the intricacies of the hour, his leather cap-toed moccasins delicately tempered above the crevices of Mercer Street, awaiting passage.
Implode. Part LVII – DK