I turn and look at a finely dressed older gentleman just stepping into the place. "Nice. Look at that whole man." I replied.
She tells me a story about an old charmer; a wealthy gentleman that she used to wait on at the upscale restaurant she worked at, a story involving after-hours with martinis and tongues. I told her sixty-five or older is a goal of mine; at least once.
"Make sure they are very charming…and rich," she instructs me. She takes a drag. I take a sip of coffee.
I ordered an appetizer sampler-platter, grapefruit juice, coffee with cream, and Genuine Conversation on a scotch stomach.
She looked at me the night before as she was getting out of my car. We were drunk. "I love you," I said. "Don't say good-bye like I won't see you for two years. Just say ...'I'll see you next week when we'll meet for lunch.'" And when I see her in a couple years we'll pick up where we left off that day like it was just last week.
I wouldn't see her next week for lunch. I wouldn't see her for a long time.
We were just two gals; two young ladies in a booth in the midst of small-town stale-mate. Both wearing boots to our knees and baited eyes; we lift our chins to smoke. She's just visiting but I live here. She's saying her good-byes. She's off to be a linguist; I'm destined to get colon cancer.
We were just two gals, sitting in a family restaurant. But I drive a Yugo and she has 'Monarchy' tattooed on her left tit. Led Zeppelin makes my chest tight and she had a baby once. She likes to hoola-hoop fire and I like to sing. We're both heartbreakers. We were just two young gals in a restaurant in our hometown on a very-cold November day.
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