A girl

   Waiting room.
   Clearly bored, sighing my way to salvation
   Not feeling like doing anything, I hold my notebook like the neck holds the head
   A blank page never seemed so useless
   A pencil never felt so uncomfortable between my fingers
   And my trusty old copy of The Antichrist is not calling for a rehearsal
   What’s worse even, is the lack of other people here
   No one’s in sight for me to bother, no face is in these weird scientific magazines and the attendant left for a 5 that feels like forever
   Don’t feel like doing anything. The sand is not slipping through my fingers
   So I give in, for once, to my fatigue, and instantly fall asleep. 

   When my eyes open, there’s a new element to the eerie empty room
   A girl
reading my notebook
   A girl like made of chocolate
   A girl
   A girl with curly beautiful hair like made of gold
   A girl
   A girl that looked at me with the smile of someone who doesn’t care much about the futile parts of a smile,
   A girl
that got me out of this bad mojo limbo I had found myself, in a snap of the fingers
   And read my notebook without permission
   And was reading my notebook without permission
   And when I realized it was already too late
   She started asking questions 

   “This Priscilla sounds like a prick. What does she look like?”
“White, German descendance, redhead, one or two fingers shorter than me.”
   “Guess you can really get it on with a 69, huh?” (laughter,) “Is she your GF?”
“Not really, no. I don’t have a ‘GF’. Do you?”
   “Not really, no. Never had a ‘GF’,” she says the latter in an ironic tone, somehow making fun of me making fun of her, “Want to be my girlfriend?”
   Somehow I was ready for that, and boldly replied with a “yes.”
   as she shrugs it off and responds with a “alright. we’ll get married in four years” 

   Those five minutes still passed slurring slowly like a drunk man walking a marathon, but now I had a companion, and a listener to the commented tour of my notebook, the new notebook, already filled a third
   With the questions still incoming,
   “What are the futile parts of a smile?”
   “Is the bald lady a cancer patient?”
   “Why do you buy alcohol to the homeless?”
   “Whose dick fell off?”
   “Do you really have bars on your windows?”
   “You and this Jonas guy are two little bitches, ain’t you?”
   “Brunettes? White Girls? Fuck off, they ain’t got nothing with me around, you’ll see.”
   “Are you the critic? I don’t remember reading anything in the news...”
   “Why are you making me sound like such a snob with all these questions? That one I didn’t even ask, come on.”
   And this way it went, for hours, actually, until the attendant came in and said the person we were looking for wouldn’t show today. Literally forgetting about my existence when she went for her mid-day break, taking much, much more than just five minutes
   So we got out of that chilling office, now as a couple, wondering what to do next. 

   I showed her my office and the bistro I liked, as well as the café I visit every now and then
   She showed me the pub one of her friends works at and has an employee discount for, as well as HER bench at the nearby park, and HER favorite living statue
   Chrome Robot Michael Jackson was a sight to behold
   But what really captured my attention was the beautiful landscape of her self,
   A girl the most fitting as a character for my stories
   A girl with dark caramel eyes that felt like a cozy happy place
   A girl I already miss hanging out with
   A girl
[...]