There was a beautiful woman with long, black hair and big, dark eyes sitting directly across from me on the train last night and she was so my type that I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She was reading the new book by Michael Connelly (who I happen to love) and occasionally glanced over at me while I furiously typed this all down on my iPhone.
I was trying to come up with something funny or a little bit smart to say to her, but instead got lost in her plump, glossy lips and then in a thin scar underneath her right eye that snaked all the way to her right ear. I gazed at her delicate fingers when she turned a page or rubbed her nose and imagined her tender hands in mine.
And then, to my surprise, I found myself thinking of you.
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