You have a soft smile, that's the first thing I notice, the first feature I like about your face as I see you from across the room.
I check my watch, twice, while I pretend not to be watching you from across the room out of the corner of my eye. I think you're it, though. I think you're it, so I move, sliding down, down off the greasy stool next to the unwashed counter, and I walk over.
You smile and I want to kiss you. Kiss you hard, soft, or whatever your preference is. But I don't. Not yet. I smile, introduce myself, and ask if you're my blind date for the evening, hoping you'll say yes.
I'm hoping you'll say yes.
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