Recently, I was standing in the aisle holding on to the back of someone's seat (common fare for rush hour). We were both facing the same direction, so I was essentially standing over his shoulder. When you're jammed all up in someone's business though, after a while there's really nowhere to look except at the person's hair, lap, book, phone, whatever. They can't see you so it doesn't really matter, and sometimes it makes your ride a lot more interesting.
Just to set the stage for you: this guy was probably 26, had a bowl cut, wore round glasses with slightly tinted frames, a plaid short-sleeved shirt, khaki shorts, socks/tennis shoes, and looks like he played one too many games of Halo when maybe he should've been at the gym.
It's 8:30 a.m. He pulls out his phone, scrolls through his texts, puts it back in his pocket. The second time this happens, I decide something must be important so I should probably watch to be sure.
Through a series of backstrokes and re-writes that go on for at least five minutes, he commits to send "Claire":
So I realized that maybe you'd never received a flirty pic before. I just got a new lamp and thought I'd show you.
Then, in the creepiest of all creepy things, he scrolls back through his phone (to where I see that he has sent the last three texts to Claire from the night before with no response), puts it back in his pocket, folds his arms, closes his eyes, and smiles the most lascivious tight-lipped smirk I've ever seen.
He has no idea that Claire's never gonna text him again.
Just to set the stage for you: this guy was probably 26, had a bowl cut, wore round glasses with slightly tinted frames, a plaid short-sleeved shirt, khaki shorts, socks/tennis shoes, and looks like he played one too many games of Halo when maybe he should've been at the gym.
It's 8:30 a.m. He pulls out his phone, scrolls through his texts, puts it back in his pocket. The second time this happens, I decide something must be important so I should probably watch to be sure.
Through a series of backstrokes and re-writes that go on for at least five minutes, he commits to send "Claire":
So I realized that maybe you'd never received a flirty pic before. I just got a new lamp and thought I'd show you.
Then, in the creepiest of all creepy things, he scrolls back through his phone (to where I see that he has sent the last three texts to Claire from the night before with no response), puts it back in his pocket, folds his arms, closes his eyes, and smiles the most lascivious tight-lipped smirk I've ever seen.
He has no idea that Claire's never gonna text him again.
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