phony.
He has absolutely no idea who I am, but his hand is on my thigh like we're friends, maybe more.
I was sitting, in my low-cut shirt, my short-shorts, my hair up and make-up covering my face. Legs crossed, chest mostly concealed by my book: Catcher in the Rye. A favorite of mine. Funny, because I'm the phoniest person alive.
It was in Starbucks, the phoniest place I'd ever seen. My shoes were from Wal-Mart, and I had braces when I was younger. I stuffed my bra until I was 17. I'm 19 now. In college, majoring in psychology, mostly because I think I need a psychologist.
He had a crew-cut, and a winner of a smile. He couldn't take his eyes off me, but he could certainly not keep them on my face.
He walked over with a plain, black coffee in hand - I'd heard him order. He had said, very clearly, "I want the biggest-size black coffee, no sugar, no fruity shit." Obviously he was compensating for something. There wasn't much in his pants, I would later discover. I feign omniscience, but really I don't know anything. Really, I'm just faking.
"I used to play soccer," he tells me. He did have nice calf muscles. I smiled, and said, "I preferred basketball." It was innocent, it was flirting. I shift my leg so he knows that he can't touch me there. Not yet, anyway.
I had put down my book, my favorite book, to talk to this guy, this phony, about sports. That was where my life was.
"Hey, I've read that book," he had said. Brilliant pick-up line. The follow up: "I don't remember much of it."
"Oh, it's quite good," I said, trying to make it seem as though I wasn't interested. I knew he'd pursue me anyway, at that point.
"I bet, a nice girl like reading it, it has to be good."
"Could I get your number?" he asks, his hand now off my thigh. I smile slyly, and pull a pen from behind my ear.
I looked like a typical product of the system, the Combine, the Establishment -- but it was just a nineteen-year-long experiment. I could look like this and attract attention, or I could look like the girls like me and attract nothing.
"My name's Chet."
"Mine's... Heather."
It wasn't Heather.
I was sitting, in my low-cut shirt, my short-shorts, my hair up and make-up covering my face. Legs crossed, chest mostly concealed by my book: Catcher in the Rye. A favorite of mine. Funny, because I'm the phoniest person alive.
It was in Starbucks, the phoniest place I'd ever seen. My shoes were from Wal-Mart, and I had braces when I was younger. I stuffed my bra until I was 17. I'm 19 now. In college, majoring in psychology, mostly because I think I need a psychologist.
He had a crew-cut, and a winner of a smile. He couldn't take his eyes off me, but he could certainly not keep them on my face.
He walked over with a plain, black coffee in hand - I'd heard him order. He had said, very clearly, "I want the biggest-size black coffee, no sugar, no fruity shit." Obviously he was compensating for something. There wasn't much in his pants, I would later discover. I feign omniscience, but really I don't know anything. Really, I'm just faking.
"I used to play soccer," he tells me. He did have nice calf muscles. I smiled, and said, "I preferred basketball." It was innocent, it was flirting. I shift my leg so he knows that he can't touch me there. Not yet, anyway.
I had put down my book, my favorite book, to talk to this guy, this phony, about sports. That was where my life was.
"Hey, I've read that book," he had said. Brilliant pick-up line. The follow up: "I don't remember much of it."
"Oh, it's quite good," I said, trying to make it seem as though I wasn't interested. I knew he'd pursue me anyway, at that point.
"I bet, a nice girl like reading it, it has to be good."
"Could I get your number?" he asks, his hand now off my thigh. I smile slyly, and pull a pen from behind my ear.
I looked like a typical product of the system, the Combine, the Establishment -- but it was just a nineteen-year-long experiment. I could look like this and attract attention, or I could look like the girls like me and attract nothing.
"My name's Chet."
"Mine's... Heather."
It wasn't Heather.
Nice.
I have no idea what this is supposed to be, but I like it - or at least, it's good :D