Lonely Hearts

His flat overlooks the city but Paul isn’t looking at the view.
Paul’s TV is on but he’s not watching it.
A pigeon flies into his window, dies instantly and leaves a dusty imprint that Paul barely notices.
He’s scrolling, scrolling a dating site, scrolling a long list of single women that are looking for a man.
Looks matter but that’s not what stops him. It’s something he can see in their eyes, imperceptible to you and me. He knows what he needs. He likes them damaged, desperate and downright sad.
He stops scrolling.
Clicks.
Paul’s next victim is chosen.