- by Duncan Birmingham
When I call Anna for our blind date, she’s blunt about not wanting to do anything ordinary.
“You’re not going to ask me out for a drink, are you?”
“God, no.” I scoff.
Of course I was. Several, in fact.
- by George Tabb
So there I am at the check-in desk at the Econo Lodge Motel on Southwest Thirteenth Street in Gainesville, Florida.
Standing to my right is Andrea. She likes the punk rock. I can tell from the Devo and Undertones buttons she’s wearing on her black jean vest. That and I guess the dyed green bangs on her head.
The clerk behind the desk looks at us funny over his wire-rimmed reading glasses.
- by Chris Rockwell
“I have a boyfriend,” said Mickey as our conversation swerved from mildly flirtatious to brazen. This wasn’t news to me. I’d scoured her MySpace profile from top to bottom, hoping to find a point of conversational entry, and stumbled upon a picture of Derek: the guy she had been dating for four-and-a-half years and living with for three. I was wondering when she would mention him. The declaration came just as her body language suggested that she wanted to be kissed.
