I was sitting alone smoking a pack of black American spirits, you were with a group of girls drinking a bucket of mimosas. Our eyes met as you took a bite of your beet sandwich. You had a tattoo on your face that looked like a butter knife and a hell of a chip on your shoulder. You came over to talk to me and you spoke about your ex, who is a tattoo artist, then you asked me if I was interested in group sex. I was scared, and immediately put out my cigarette in my frito pie and left.
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I haven’t slept since, and it’s not just because of the nose beers. I regret walking away from you and not getting your name.
If you see this, meet me at Yellow Jacket Sunday. I am ready to move forward with our relationship. Also I would like to see if your ex could tattoo me for free.