Craigslist Ads and the New Wave Songs That Love Them #13

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.