Girls in expensive coats who wear butterfly clips in their long, dark hair drive me crazy.
Their smiles are blindingly white against perfect rose colored lips that kiss the cheeks of douchy guys who say things like,
"Love ya babe" and "Ya, I went to Penn State".
I can't hear what they're saying because I'm not supposed to, the soft tinkle of their voices brushing my ears like feathers.
Like me, they are members of the chosen people, though I am certainly not one of their chosen people.
I was staring. Was I staring?
Did she see me?
She did.
Her disapproving gaze says only,
"You should have been a lawyer".
Maybe the next one will smile at me.
