Thursday, April 10, 2008

Walls by Bridget Midway

I fell in love with his hands. Fuck that eyes shit. Windows to the soul and all that garbage. The hands. That's the real way to know a person, to understand him. And the right set of hands could turn me into butter.

Although I don't consider myself a stalker, I'd been watching this man for several days. Okay, it was more like a few weeks.

What's a single girl to do during the summer down in Virginia Beach? The bar scene bored me. Not much into gawking at tourists. After a while they all start to blend in together into a mess of polyester, plastic flip-flops and cheap sunglasses. Besides, I like to focus my attention on one thing.

I wasn't stalking him. Not really. It wasn't like I had followed the guy home or anything. I have morals. I have standards.