We had coffee at Panera and she was late and I didn’t want to do it but my parents had set it up. She walked in, twenty years old, with blonde hair and a horse face and an overbite. I thought she looked like she was from Iowa, if that’s what people from Iowa looked like. We talked and it was nothing worth mentioning, talking and listening but mostly talking. She was negative about most things and complained about just as many and ignored all of my charm which quickly became plaintive words that revealed too much. She was nervous and contradicted herself and she liked romance novels and I don’t respect that genre. I told her I am a writer and I want to be a writer. I had to leave to go to a bookstore and it was the truth.
She said to let her know if I wanted to see her again and I smiled as if to say yes but I don’t want to see her again.