-68. She Deserved My Finger Wag
She stole my cactus. I caught her eye.
I saw her in Pret. Not by chance.
The queue was long, but I found my way behind her.
Her faint, floral lift tickled my senses. It was soft. Clean. Like hotel soap or freshly laundered clothes.
She picked up a ham and cheese. Same as me.
Caught her eye. Casually. Waved my lunch in her direction. “Good choice.”
She smiled, stroked her sandwich. “…
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