Yoga Ass was a classic heartbreaker.
I met her at the Hipster Bar – the other one – she was sitting at the bar, talking to some hipster loser when I noticed her. I walked up to the bar, ordered some sort of micro-brew, stole a glance, and got one back. She was talking to some dude about whatever. I listened for a minute and then interrupted – oh, you like so-and-so. I love that. You ever go to such-a-place? She lights up, starts talking to me, oh yeah, something something, love blah blah.
Soon the hipster loser leaves, and I get her to myself for a few minutes. Something something, ever been to this place? Blah blah. What do you do? I’m a farmer.
It’s a lie – but sort of, kind of, maybe based on truth. I could pull it off.
“A farmer? Oh. We should get
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