Still Sunday night. Still in my favorite pub. Still with Lenny.
In walks someone, someone meaning a cute, tall, and solo fellow. But he’s not solo, he has a book (I don’t know if he’s a freak like me and has a name for his book).
Well, wouldn’t it be something if Little Ms. Notetaker got over her extreme shyness and talked to him? But maybe he’s not of the same mindset, and he brought the book because he wants to read, not as the item-that-you-bring-with-you-when-dining-alone-so-you-appear with-it-and-cool-and-not-at-all-pathetically-alone.
Lenny, no! Lenny’s running out of juice. Which means I have to end this date early and you’re just going to have to wait, on the edge of your seats I’m sure, to see what I do next (don’t hold your breath, I probably just pay my bill and leave).
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