Monday, September 26, 2011

One thing you ladies forget: Men talk

Girl, Twiggy, I meet in some party. Friend of mine thinks the way I handled her was legendary, I think; not good enough.

I thought I had written this, but could not find the story;


Girl, one of the best dressing, sexiest girls of the university.

The night we met, she played hard; I played impossible.

Some weeks later I saw her in a bar, she had one of my friends with her, though it seemed platonic, and I was teasing some princess who was trying to one up me. Twiggy's face turned sour. Good.

Recently I was at the university for a meeting. Went to see some friends over coffee, and lo and behold, she was sitting on some other table.

I was getting up, when I saw her sitting. As I had my jacket on, she was passing behind me, similar function to proximity mines.

I greet her, and she greets me, but with the aura of "still playing hard to get"...


She imagines she is a blank page;

And she imagines that she can paint the blank page into a master painter's creation.

What she does not know.

Is that men talk.

One night. A man that I know takes her home. Ravages her. He talks to another man that I know. And this man talks to me.

Another one night. Another man that I know takes her home. Ravages her. He talks to yet another man that I know. And this man also talks to me.

What she does not know,

The blank page she imagines herself to be has already been spray painted.

My friends, I ask you, should one treat a common underground grafitti wall as Leonardo's canvas?

Nope. You take your spray can and spray the walk while having an evening walk.

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