She stood at a table with friends, sipping her drink, listening to the guitarist on stage pour his emotions out to all of with his Fender.
Immediately impressed with the beauty, I was, when noticing her fingers playing atop the table with that of the guitarist and his song.
Emotionally, I knew I wasn't ready to speak with her. Physically, I wanted nothing more. Somehow my state of mind had been sent back to the mid to late 90's, when I'd just sit and hope that whichever girl it was I was hoping to talk to would take it upon herself to venture over my way and speak with me. Cowardly, I know.
Since 2000, I haven't been that way. Before then I didn't say a damn thing to a single one. But since 2000, if I see an attractive female and wish to speak with her, I go and do just that. Until I saw her I was confident in myself, but after seeing her I was scared of the chance of being rejected.
After the first set had been played, I voyaged out to the Chicago street to have a smoke. And wouldn't you know it, she, too, decided to burn one.
I said nothing to her, nor she to me.
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