For The Van Man, life was a constant search of perfection. He usually found it in the imperfections of the every day. A half-broken, yellow rose with a bee needling at the pollen or the homeless man with a shopping cart full of ripe pumpkins. But every so often, Van Man would be confronted with sublime flawlessness.
The van slowed to a stop at the red light. The night was cool and serene. Van Man spotted her in an instant. She sat in her red convertible as it idled, waiting for the oncoming vehicles to pass. The convertible made the turn and drove by Van Man. Everything seemed to slow down, movements and time. The soft, blonde hair flowed back in the breeze. The moon glistened off the tanned, succulent skin. She glanced at him. He had everything he needed to know. The Woman was confident and a man-eater. She was not easily excited, yet, had a hint of vulnerability. Her hand held the steering wheel at the most elegant angle. Her elbow rested exquisitely on top of the door. "Wow", mouthed Van Man, lost in some hypnotic stare. It was no use. He was hers. She knew it. Their romance would be a beautiful nightmare. Van Man would have no strength with her. Whatever she wanted, whatever her desire. One does not say "no" to a being like that. Jealousy and alcohol would ravage his forties and she would spit him out. What a perfect way to ruin a life.
The convertible sped away and The Woman was gone just as fast as he had seen her. She was down the road, on to her next red light of heartache. The October night had brought a glimmer of pureness, something ethereal. Thank god she's gone, thought The Van Man as he closed his mouth and blinked.