Girls didn't usually make him sweat. He liked to think he was the one who made them sweat. But this date he just kept trying to wipe his hands dry as he listened to Colombia rage on about free range chicken and the fight against corporate fast food. He focused on the chalky gravel path leading through the dripping green trees and out of site. The breeze picked up the fresh fishy scent of Lake Michigan and smashed it into the wet trees. The boughs drooped down and thorny branches shot out across the path. He moved a prickly branch aside , but she didn’t even notice. She kept talking about the chickens. "People don't even care that chickens don't even get to have beaks anymore, and they are kept in pens so long their feet start to grow around the wire, like the worst ingrown toenail you could ever imagine..." Kyle listened to her, nodding in agreement and grimacing in disgust at the appropiate times He thought about how he could of left her to the mercy of the thorn branches. He had saved her perfect white creamy skin from mutilation
( ... )
instantly falled for her beautiful purple eyes that flicked around like ______blue flames?____ and her vagueness. After sitting three seats to her left for several weeks he asked her on a date and she said sure
( ... )
chickens hungrily searching for something. What is she looking for, Kyle thought, exasperated. Maybe he would postpone the second date, cancel the kids and marriage too. “Holy shit, Kyle! Do you know what this means?” Colombia was lying of the ground now, inspecting the dirt around the stone. She didn’t wait for an answer. “If the grave robbers or anyone knows we know, we could be killed! Our lives are in danger!” Kyle’s mouth fell open. She’s insane, she’s insane, she’s insane repeating through his head. "Uh...Colombia..." he started, unsure how to continue, how to tell her, but there was only one way to end this. "uh huh?" She was only half listening. "I, uh, don't think, um...Nelson Mandella isn't dead and chicken nachos are my favorite food," he spit the words out like they were on fire Her blue-black hair flashed around, "You're a bastard."
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He focused on the chalky gravel path leading through the dripping green trees and out of site. The breeze picked up the fresh fishy scent of Lake Michigan and smashed it into the wet trees. The boughs drooped down and thorny branches shot out across the path. He moved a prickly branch aside , but she didn’t even notice.
She kept talking about the chickens.
"People don't even care that chickens don't even get to have beaks anymore, and they are kept in pens so long their feet start to grow around the wire, like the worst ingrown toenail you could ever imagine..."
Kyle listened to her, nodding in agreement and grimacing in disgust at the appropiate times He thought about how he could of left her to the mercy of the thorn branches. He had saved her perfect white creamy skin from mutilation ( ... )
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What is she looking for, Kyle thought, exasperated. Maybe he would postpone the second date, cancel the kids and marriage too.
“Holy shit, Kyle! Do you know what this means?” Colombia was lying of the ground now, inspecting the dirt around the stone. She didn’t wait for an answer. “If the grave robbers or anyone knows we know, we could be killed! Our lives are in danger!”
Kyle’s mouth fell open. She’s insane, she’s insane, she’s insane repeating through his head.
"Uh...Colombia..." he started, unsure how to continue, how to tell her, but there was only one way to end this.
"uh huh?" She was only half listening.
"I, uh, don't think, um...Nelson Mandella isn't dead and chicken nachos are my favorite food," he spit the words out like they were on fire
Her blue-black hair flashed around,
"You're a bastard."
Reply
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