Two Gentlemen

Kirsty and I are pulling out of the Hannaford parking lot waiting for the light to change. And as we're sitting there an old Ford truck is going by. The cab is full but I see a familiar face on the passenger side. We make eye contact and follow eachother's gaze the whole time the truck passes the front of my car. We stay that way until we're forced to turn away and there is nothing left to see. And then it hits me like a gust of wind from a fast moving train. That was just Casey Sparrow. What a day.



The mystery man is sitting in Mocha Joe's when I walk in on a break from work. I know I've seen him before, but I never really looked. He's a man's version of Caleb ( if only he could sing like him ) with a beard and long hair. We both can't stop looking at each other while I order my drink and wait for it to be made. But I had to get back to work. And I wouldn't just talk through my eyes all afternoon anyway.

Second time, I'm sitting there writing. He walks down the steps in a leather jacket and a helmet in his hands. Mmm. And it's fucking hot out. I shiver. I'm sitted so there is half a wall blocking my view with a part of it cut out so I can keep glancing at him. He must have caught me five or more times. He was talking to everybody. I wanted to talk to him. Beautiful. He was in jeans. And at one point, the whole back of his body was facing me. A man. I just wish I could see his arms. I would probably melt.

When we went to the bars last night I looked for him everywere. But neither were bars I would picture him in. He's too smokey looking for the pounding hip-hop they were playing at the Weathervane.

All of me wants to see him again. It's like every time we catch the other looking it's a dare to say something. I had this running story going in my head. If he had walked up to my table yesterday, and just said hello, I think I would have flat out told him, 'I think you are the most beautiful person to walk in that door.' And it's not just beauty. He's got my attention. He's mysterious and intrueging. That's everything I want right now. I need it slow. I need it to hit me slowly. I don't want someone all at once. I want to sit with him in a dim lit bar and I want him to tell me about trips he's taken across the country. The crazy women he's been with. The drunk men he's been around. His tattoos. But I want it to last. I want it to last longer than this fucking song. Because it's still playing in my background constantly. Especially thinking of him. Rock. Fucking rock.