Tuesday, May 31, 2005

Not that it's a sign...

Ah, Starbucks in the summertime. As I waited for the sweet, caffeinated nectar that is a caramel mocha, I chatted up the lovely lass ahead of me in line. Her words were friendly and playful, but mostly drowned out by lurid thoughts involving my hands entwined in her jet black hair. A black so dark the stars themselves yearn for its enveloping embrace, a void of motion within countless strands and highlights sharp as ice despite the dim-lit coffehouse.

The barrista called my order and snapped me back to my surroundings. "Is that you?" Jet Black motioned. "Oh, yes, I'm sorry," I replied, thinking how silly it was for me to miss an opportunity to introduce myself, "My name is Eric."

She gave a wary smile and said, "It's just that your coffee looks like it says 'evil'."

"Tip of the iceberg," was the response that teased out a laugh before heading our separate ways.

Post a Comment