She's a captive participant behind the register, in this cat and mouse game of "make me uncomfortable", and that can't sit well with her either. at least i get to walk away.īut all these obstacles can be refuted systematically and empirically as causes for my failure. and more to the point, you would think that i'd be able to come up with something charming to say that's more inviting than "how's it going?", but less pointy than "you'll live in my basement and drink from this bowl, and eat from this bucket, and no one will know". you know, just something nice and in the middle somewhere.
including bringing my girlfriend by on a regular basis, as a gesture of normalcy and non-aggression.
it probably doesn't quite translate that way to her, because what i secretly intend to be my presentation on "the benefits and desirableness of knowing me" somehow slips out of my control and spirals into an effortlessly pleasant conversation between her and my girlfriend.Īnd she can see me out of the corner of her eye, as i get that silently panicked look about me, and she's likely thinking that she better be careful because the only person with enough expertise to find her body would probably be morgan freeman, and he's only an actor.īut the day that laura brannigan died was the best chance i had to take it all back and start anew.
the mug, the stealing, the leg warmers, all of it. I came in to get my coffee and there she was, behind the counter, dancing to music, to the song "gloria".
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