You're hot. I mean, one of the hottest guys I've seen in Portland, easily. If you'd found me on a fun night out, when I'd had a few drinks in me and a lot more makeup on me, I'd have marched right up to you and told you so. But alas, dear missed connection, you found me in the trash.
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You said hi, and I locked up and spewed a weak "what's up?" What the fuck, brain? You muttered something about cleaning house and dumped a terrarium containing one dessicated cricket. I thought about asking if your pet died, but the socially conscious portions of my brain told me that would be a bad idea. Maybe your pet was the cricket? I'm sorry for your loss, and I'm willing to comfort you with open legs.
Also, I found a cup containing $9. Buy you a drink?