You stood in line gazing at her like a school boy. I noticed that, and I get it, she was really beautiful. You stood in line a good 5 people deep waiting to order your coffee, and I could read your entire conversation you were rehearsing in your head with her, by your facial expressions. Every 2 or 3 thoughts you’d smirk as you got closer and closer to her, and I was so intrigued to watch what was about to transpire.

I watched you wipe your hand down your pants leg a few times, preventively wiping the sweat off of them. I watched you fumble with your wallet as you anxiously couldn’t wait any longer to speak to her. It was finally your turn, and I was so excited for you, rooting you on in my own thoughts “This guy is going to ask her out I bet. Please ask her out, please just go hard and do it.” You read her name off her name tag, she read your name off your card, and it was fucking magic.

Envious that it was her and not me, she switched to making coffee-and then your fucking dismount came. Where you leaned in and asked her for her number so you could text her that her zipper was down when she was wearing a fucking apron? Why did you abort and go back to thought number 1? You had a solid 7.5 with thought 5 and 6 I saw it, and yet you chose “your zipper is down.”

A small part of my soul died for you today as I closed my eyes, and exhaled my held breath in disbelief. I suppose by the look on her face, that I won’t be seeing you again. Take care (Urban) Jack Armstrong.