“So you got a girlfriend?”
“Why have a girlfriend?”
“So you don’t live alone.”
“I live alone.”
Ambitious. But then again, they all are.
“Ech,” I shrug, ” People will talk. This town? They all up in everyone’s business.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, “I don’t live here.”
We high five.
Moments later, he returns to my cafe table holding a piece of paper, which is ceremoniously placed beside my wine glass before he struts off. I lift it and observe a phone number, written in his own hand, circled, with his actual name under it. I’ve been calling him something else for over a year! I laugh into my glass while thinking, I was 17 when he was born.
Seventeen.
Ardent. Overconfident. Of the Generation of the Oversharers.
Hmm.
Hmmm.
The Archives of Von Simeon 
Truth or fiction here? Not judging.
Truth, like reality, is respective to the beholder.
Here, I did a hybrid phenomenal-ekphrastic-experiential set to poetry form.
Showing off, in other words. 😉
Okay. Cool.
What does THAT mean?? Haha
It means, ‘No judgement, very cool short story.’ No more, no less.
😀
i used to be just bold enough to give an attractive woman my phone number but too shy to ask for hers. unfortunately, it never got me anywhere (a more successful friend said i needed to take that second step–instead of the one to the gallows). funny story!
I always read the guy’s perspective, but rarely the woman’s pov, in regards to the ‘cougar’ story. So, my stab at it…I liked the way it came out. Thanks for the critique; always welcome!