The most beautiful girl in the entire world just boarded my train and sat down next to me.
The most beautiful girl. In the world. Lives here, in my city. Is riding my train. Right now.
What do I do, Internet? What do I do?
Now she’s taking out a book. A paperback, the kind you’d pick up on impulse while standing in line at the CVS. “Just Another Kid,” it’s called. By Torey Hayden. She’s just started it. She’s on page eleven.
Oh, right. Descriptions. She five-foot-six, very nearly my height. If we stood face-to-face, and close enough, our noses would touch. And then my heart would swell and burst inside my chest, a popping sound like a egg left too long in a microwave oven.
Her hair: brown. Shoulder-length, brown and perfect. Highlights in the morning sun. She must condition with honey.
Her eyes: brown, I think. It’s hard to tell; she’s reading her book. Page 17 now. She reads fast. She’s so smart.
Oh, God. Now she’s looking over here. She’s looking at me. She totally caught me staring at her. I pretended to be looking out the window. We’re on the subway, for crying out loud. I am so busted.
She’s smiling.
She’s leaning over now, right now, reading over my shoulder.
Yes, most beautiful girl in the world, I’m writing about you.
She’s about to say something.
Oh God.
I’m sorry, Internet. I have to go.
Comments
All comments are the property of their owners and do not reflect the opinions of this Web site or, well, basically anybody at all. The author of this Web site reserves the right to edit the hell out of any and all comments. Participate at your own risk.