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Denny's
By
Steven Hoadley
I didn't quite know what to make of her.
We sat in that cheap restaurant
surrounded by the old and broken
and the young and stupid.
We drank beer and Diet Pepsi.
Me - bedraggled, beaten and bothered.
Her - taut, tight and glowing.
She said she was attracted to me.
Was it my bad skin or my stuttering speech?
Perhaps she liked what I said earlier,
which I'd long forgotten.
"I don't like your writing," she said.
"I don't either," I answered.
I finished my beer.
she sipped her Pepsi through a straw.
"Why do you write about such terrible things?"
"Because I don't know about any nice things."
She talked incessantly.
I stared shamelessly.
"I like you," she said.
"That'll change," I answered.
She laughed.
I didn't.
I called her the next day.
No answer.
Copyright ©
2002 Steven Hoadley
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