Last fall
while hassling through Exiled on Main Street
#33, many
weekend nights I would get ice cream from
the café
on the corner. For a couple of weekends, the
adorable,
curly-haired, big-brown-eyed girl who showed
just a
hint of waistline skin between her black jeans and
black top
would invariably end up taking my order. She
grinned at
me while serving up my ice cream. She
grinned at
me while taking my money and making
change.
She grinned at me while I walked towards the
door. I
wondered if she had a crush on me. I told two
friends of
this, and they both had identical responses:
Maybe it
was her medication.