Jeremy hated tourists.

Their flowered button-down shirts and bold personalities, their strange accents. Everything about them felt so wrong and intruding.

He hated coming across them in his home.

They always walked slow down the sidewalk, taking pictures of things so ridiculous he wanted to laugh. Jeremy caught one photographing the old-run down coffee shop that doesn’t use milk when they make hot chocolate! Whenever Jeremy needed a laugh he would just think of their tripod and red shirt, but then his mind always has to trail off into how disgusting tourists really were. They block exits and walk the wrong way down the path. They were like obstacles he had to pass on his day to work. Sometimes… well, sometimes he just wanted to slap them with his briefcase and run off to work. At least he wouldn’t be late.

Jeremy sighed and looked at his watch, why, oh why did the tourists have to form a line when they walked down the sidewalk? He couldn’t even squeeze by if he tried, their arms all looped together and bright, happy smiles on his faces that seemed to taunt him. He scowled, imagining the group laughing and saying, ‘look! We cut this man off so he’s late to work,’ in jolly tones that made a low sound form in the back of his throat.

Jeremy tilted his head towards the sky, trying to keep his composure as they stopped to peer into the window of an old carpenter shop. He pushed between them, almost feeling satisfactory when they gave him stern looks. How how dare he intruppted their fun dilly dally in the street time! _Some_ people had places to be.

Jeremy pushed through the streets, imagining the look of suprise on his bosses face when he showed up early to work for once. Maybe he would be allowed to go home early have a warm meal in the daylight and—

“Woah!” Jeremy took a startled breath as his briefcase bumped into the wall. Before he knew it, the leather slammed into the concrete and cracked open. It spouted out papers as if he were getting letters to Hogwarts.

Jeremy jumped, trying to collect all the papers before anyone stepped on them. Any sort of footprint on those pristine papers could ruin his career.

“Sorry, sir!” A man said in an accent that almost sounded familiar. Jeremy turned his way, ready to curse the man out on the street before something in his brain clicked.

“Are you from Houston?” Jeremy asked before he could stop himself. He regretted the words before he received an answer and shook his head, leaning down to snatch the papers.

“Well yes I am.” The man said brightly as he leaned down to help Jeremy. What a tourist this was, not skadaddling away whenever they cause any sort of trouble.

“These look important, wouldn’t want them to get messed up, would we?” The man asked, trying his best to flatten the wrinkles in the page.

Jeremy couldn’t help but laugh at the accent sprouting from the man next to him. One so familiar. One that reminded him of home in the country surrounded by aunts and uncles, large fields and cows.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jeremy said, surprising himself. He was never known to be the nicest person, he was what some would call a workaholic. All joy drained out of him and only a serious manner left.

“Are you from Houston too?” The man asked.

“I have family there.” Jeremy admitted, sealing the briefcase shut and standing up again.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Both of the men shook hands and gave each other friendly smiles.

“It’s nice to hear a sound from home.” Jeremy said, suddenly trapped in a daydream full of potluck and horses. He snapped himself out quickly and pushed against the crowd. “I wish I could stay longer, but I have work to get to.”

“Right, of course. I would say ‘see you around’ but I have a flight in what,” he checked his watch, “an hour.”

“Well, then, safe travels.” Jeremy offered with a grin.

“Safe travels!”