Number Thirteen in a Very Occasional Series
You: the girl with the Polish dictionary, sitting at the Sidewalk Cafe in Venice.
Me: the incredibly handsome mime who had gathered a small but vibrant crowd just outside.
Your eyes met mine as I struggled against the wind and I could have sworn you smiled when I couldn't get out of that damn box.
After, I collected the money from the hat on the ground. You looked like you wanted me to buy you a drink. Something strong and Eastern European.
I walked away, not wanting to shock you with the existential problem of making small talk with a mime.
When I realized I was an idiot and came back for you, you were gone.
Since then, I've been haunting every borscht joint east of downtown.
Meet me on Sunday. I'll bring the pierogis.
Saturday Single No. 538
1 day ago