I noticed her when she walked in the door, which was a major strike against her. Her hair was brown, deliciously chocolatey brown and I was disgusted with myself for thinking it. She sat directly in front of me and I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. Her shirt was thin, and I couldn’t tell; was that a tattoo on her shoulder? I kept looking, staring, half knowing I looked like a creep.
She was exquisite and that pissed me off.
I was blissfully indifferent and easily overlooked and I liked it that way. I figured that most people worth talking to were the ones like me, though I had never met any of them. If you want attention, be cheerleader, join a theatre group, or amuse yourself in the bathroom. Otherwise, you’ll be better off listening to my advice. Anonymity is the slacker's best friend.
It had never occurred to me that someone might realize that I exist.
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