On the W this evening, a bunch of cute girls got on behind me, one prettier than her friends. Decked out in brand new Uggs, a big Coach bag, the latest Burberry scarf, and a $100 manicure, she was in the process of regaling her friends with yet another tale of her latest bad date. His crime? He wasn't tall enough.
She sat next to me, and I saw the guy across from me check out the pretty one. He saw me looking and smiled briefly, embarrassed to be caught staring. He wasn't bad-looking himself, with a nice suit and a leather briefcase, complete with a schmancy new video iPod. The girls got off at 28th Street, and the guy was still looking at the pretty one, trying to work up the courage to say something to her. His eyes followed her out, and he watched her tell someone to get the fuck out of her way. The doors closed, his gaze still on the platform.
He looked back at me.
"I should have gotten her number, huh?"
I glanced up from my book and shook my head.
"No way. You dodged a bullet there. Girls like that? Will eat your dreams and destroy your soul."
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