Tuesday, noon, eastbound Fullerton bus. I sat pristinely in my pressed shirt and tie en route to job interview. You in your skintight black jeans and white t-shirt proclaiming an entertaining variety of pro-Puerto Rican slogans. Our eyes met and the gaze we shared transcended any cultural boundaries society would wish to impose upon our burdgeoning romance. I could tell by the jaundice in your skin that my piercing blue eyes and shocking pallor were twisting your insides in such a profound fit of ecstasy. Even so, I was taken aback when you suddenly rose to make a swift exit, unable to contain your glee, and bestowed SOMEONE ELSE with the contents of your stomach brought on by the rapture of our unspoken amor. The cruel pace of our unrelenting bus driver prevented me from following you out to the curb and left me to ponder why I was not the one to receive the angelic outpouring.
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I stopped by the Home Depot on my way home and purchased a bucket. If you feel the same way, let me know and I'll also bring over some ginger ale.