The new guy, who I have already nicknamed "Snickers," grinned:
"I like listening to you... You have interesting stories."
Laughing, I responded, "You wouldn't believe my stories."

Perhaps some day he can buy the book, and be entertained by my misadventures as often as his heart could desire. For now, we will pseudo bond over swag sandwiches a few times a week, and he will walk away wondering about me, as they always seem to do.

--------

Sitting there in the fluorescent overhead lighting I've come to know so well, arm stretched out in an unnatural, yet not unreasonably uncomfortable position, his big gloved hands working over my exposed skin, etching forever the words we had already read a few too many times, I was gently sideswiped by a bit of a confession... One of those things you never thought about until someone said they were thinking about it, and then it's all you can ever think about.

The first thing I had noticed about Richard (there's always a first thing, followed by numerous other judgements) was that he looks a lot like Chino of the Deftones, which happens to be my all time favorite band, which is an entirely different story altogether. I've wanted to proclaim my love for the 'tones to him a few times over the past few weeks, but that is something like someone ranting to me about what a great movie "Sin City" was only because they think I vaguely resemble Rosario Dawson.

The second thing I had noticed about Richard was his awesomely blunt, vocal, critical sense of humor. And not even sense of humor so much as straight personality, because he wasn't looking to make anyone laugh. But I laughed.

The third thing I had noticed about Richard was that he made me wonder about myself, about what harsh and clever things he had to say behind MY back.

So there I was, another canvas for his talent, another fish in its bowl for his scrutinizing pleasure, when I realized I had somehow found favor in his eyes. He was trying to figure me out. Sadly, agonizingly, he could not find the word he needed to describe what he thought of me. Something about "different... trippy." I thought surely he was trying to ask me if I'm one of those suicidal spoiled kids who think life is rough in the 'burbs, but thankfully that was not his impression at all.

The fourth thing I had noticed about Richard was that he makes me want his approval.

"I'm not good with words... You're... I don't know, but I kind of like you..."

The last thing I had noticed about Richard, the thing that keeps Sunday on constant replay in my mind's eye, the thing that makes me search for excuses to go back again immediately, the thing that I snicker to myself about... is that he makes me smile. Really smile.