Sio, if anything, was a huge jerk.  He spent his days alone, and rightfully so.  His passions were classic, cliche even: surfing, tanning, women, and everything else a California boy would want to do.  He left no room in his life for friends, or a good relationship of any kind.  His mother was a drunken women, relying on fake boyfriends for booze.  His father was long gone, somewhere he’d never cared to look for.

Sio took a job at a marketing business, and worked away his life by manipulating others; his neighbors, his crushes, and his would-be friends.  Sio’s life was ruled by loneliness.  Every morning he’d drag himself out of bed, take a shower, eat cereal, and then sprint to work.  He’d wear the official salesman wear, hat and all, bouncing from house to to house.

“Ma’am, really, this rug will change your life,” He’d claim, and smile wide.  The houses all smelled different, some musty, some lavender-ridden.  He would pitch his poisons, wink, and slither his way into a sale.  He knew he’d be praised, but mostly hoped he’d never run into the client again.  What would he say?  He could remember all sorts of conflicts.

“You and your bullshit products!  How dare you deceive so many good people, Mr. Maverick, really.  You’d better hope I never see you again.”

And he did.  He really did.

When the day was ending, he’d show up at the local bar, a sad place called “Paradise.”  Fake palm trees and painted-on water adorned every inch.  Glittering lights made his head swim as he forgot who he was.  He wasn't depressed, he told himself.  How could he be?  He was good on money, good on women, good on life; wasn't he?

His entire life was a sales pitch.  

“Here we have Sio Maverick, perfect tan, perfect teeth, perfect life!  Don’t you wish you were him!?”

Sio liked to think that someday, maybe, someone would say: “No, it’s not perfect anything.” Before slamming the door.  Why did he have to fool people?  He could hear his own voice on a repeating record, over and over and over.  No one would ever ask if the record was broken, because it didn't have a scratch on it.

The day Sio met Sylvia Rose was the day his record broke.  She was everything he did not have.  Her eyes met his, but slowly, not seductively.  They were light brown, like cinnamon, and her hair was flung over her shoulder.  There, in paradise, was where he fell in love.  

Sylvia was sweet, and kind.  He didn’t deserve the love she gave him.  He would stop every day at the town flower shop and buy ten red roses, as a confession.  Every step he took burst with color, with life; and it painted the walls around him.  When he would arrive at her apartment, the flowers would be bumping as loud as his heart, and he would worry that she could hear him.  Her door was like a portal to another world, a brighter one.

On that walk, when the skies were bleeding their blue, was when it happened.  He bought roses, again, in a stack of ten.  His steps were filled with life, with vigor.  He could smell, hear, and think again.  He looked into the sky, letting the clouds’ tears run into his own eyes.  He crossed the street, jogging lightly, a smile frozen into his features.  Sio loved someone, but more importantly, he was learning to love himself.  

Mrs. Bigueg, in her small Bug, leaned down to grab her favorite CD.  Her tires screeched as she slammed on the brakes.    

The flowers were scattered in the street, later to be illuminated by the red and blue flashes of light.  The tenth one rested at the edge of the sidewalk, just a few paces from Sylvia’s portal of happiness.