Not My Finest Hour

Kristen and I had some time to kill before we met our fine friends at Beer Works last night, so we walked to City Sports to browse and stopped at the library. On our way to the library, we walked by the Copley T station, where an attractive young man stood. He had on stylish sneakers, jeans that fit in all the right places, a blue t-shirt, brown suede coat, and a worn Sox hat. He was about 6'5, and he held a single apricot-colored rose in his hand. He scanned the crowd of people emerging from the T station eagerly, with a slight smile on his face.

"Wow," I said to Kristen, "do you think he's waiting for me?" I called out, a little louder than I should have, "Hey, are you waiting for me? Because I'm right here!"

Kristen laughed, because sometimes my voice modulation gets away from me and I'm yelling without even knowing it. The guy totally must have heard me, but he did not chase me down, sadly. We went into the library, and came back out.

"Do you think my new friend is still here?" I asked, smirking.

"Probably not. He probably went to call the cops on the scary girl."

Just then, the guy walked toward us, still holding the rose, looking like he was pacing the entire block while waiting for his dream date to come. I hope she showed up, cute guy. If not, call me.