“Of course … Yes … Sorry … You’re right … I just … No … I’ll sit somewhere else … It’s just …” Again she stutters to a halt... her thoughts imperfectly translated into words and still she makes no movement towards finding herself some other table to sit at. She isn’t going anywhere. She is going to stay there looming over me, kneading her glass, averting her eyes until “somebody” invites her to sit down and that somebody can either be graceful about it or be a deliberately malicious and. It was freezing cold, so I invited her to sit in my car and smoke with me. We made some small talk, and I told her how cute she looked in the club's scrubs (that's what we call them). She said thanks, and wasn't I the girl who waited for so-and-so to finish spinning class. I told her he was my boyfriend, and she said he was a nice-looking guy. I told her that my boyfriend would like her, too, because she had nice tits and a really tight ass. She said she was 42, divorced, and lived with her. More

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