A Picture a Day, Keeps the Something Something

One Picture, One Story

Last Call: The Girl

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The walk into town did wonders for my fragile state. I had been thinking about the flask the whole trek; I even considered turning around to retrieve it, but thought better of it. I turned my attention to the sounds and sights of the shopping district and was able to suppress the urge to down gallons of alcohol. I located the shop Paul sent me to and opened the door. The bell jingled as I walked in. Hey there! came a voice from behind a pile of shoe boxes. I replied with a quiet hey and scanned the small store and tried to get my bearings. The gin would be nice right about now, I mumbled as I looked about. I grabbed a couple pairs of jeans and a half dozen t-shirts before turning my attention to the shoes. Need to try anything on? the speaker was now visible as I turned to answer. She was young and beautiful and I immediately lost my composure. No thanks. I mean yes, shoes please.

I could feel my face redden as I sat on the stool and pointed at the shoes I wanted. What size?

Just the shoes. her amused look notified me of my idiotic response and I started to sweat from embarrassment. Er, I mean nine and a half, please.

She disappeared into the back and I put my head in my hands, Genius, Phil, pure frigging genius. I did my best to regain what little composure I had and smiled at her as she returned. She smiled brightly as she laced the shoes for me. Looks like a fit! I said clumsily, I’ll take them as well as these. I motioned to the clothes beside me. We both reached for them at the same time, our fingers touched briefly and we both pulled away. It was like one of those awkward moments you see in those crappy teenybopper movies. I paid and gathered my things, See you again! Her voice was so cheery that I wanted to throw up. Yes! was all I was able to reply.

God I could use that gin right now I mumbled as I walked back to the house.

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This entry was posted on November 7, 2013 by in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , .
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