I'm sitting in this here coffee shop in this here city not so devoid of hotties, and one boy who doesn't draw my attention for the right reasons has been on my mind for the last two hours.
I've been here since 7 p.m., it's not 9:19 p.m. and he's gone to the bathroom 14 times. He's in there for about a minute or two at a time, walks out, wait until one or two more customers uses it, then goes back for another round.
He's either got really bad indigestion (maybe he ordered the quiche) or tapeworm. I'm not a doctor, but from where I'm sitting -- a cool 15, 20 feet away I'd say -- I can safely say it's quiche or tapeworm. Take my word for it.
Right now, he's waiting for another go-around, and he's listening in on whoever's in there. Do we have a fetish on our hands? (Well, his hands, not ours.)
....
......
Um, excuse me. I had to vomit in my mouth.
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