Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Method Man

You sat in the Italian bakery: eyebrows raised, head tilted to one side, attempting to look interested while I discussed the intricacies of bridge maintenance and the Wesleyan Quadrilateral.  Your bra straps are revealed to me on one shoulder (which you are aware of); they are sleek and black and are making me uncomfortable (which you are also aware of).     

I was the man with a sweater over my dress shirt (because this morning I was late, and I didn't have time to iron).  I am 26, but remind you of your father.  I am the man who met you after work, chastised you for not wearing a helmet, and sent you home with almond cookies.

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