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.