So this will be my first and last attempt.
He asked me to meet him for coffee after work. “On my way, be there about 9:15; don’t leave.”
“Damn, what could it be?” I thought. “9:15. Any later and I’m leaving”.
Three months have passed without contact so I must consider; nothing’s worse than remaining a part of someone’s inventory. But what on earth would we talk about? How we’re doing? Work? The weather? The Lakers?
Death by a thousand dull conversations; one more couldn’t hurt, right? I must not be frail.
He took his coffee with an unusually heavy dose of cream this time, picked the furthest seating arrangement he could spot, and settled.
There we sat, looking some kind of sad, fishing for the right topic to start an uncomfortable, yet brief conversation. Inhaling cigarette after cigarette to relieve our nerves.
The next time you decide to leave a girl a rose, don’t forget to remove the thorns.
u'r stories touch me so much!
gotta numb it out
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