Like all nerds, I harbored an ongoing lust for anything with tits and a second glance for me. She was ridiculously hot in a Gaul-ish kind of way and was, of course, out of my league. Chance encounters on campus and an odd connection between an old man in a Dunkin Donuts and her mother were all I had to fuel my tiny hope that one day that we’d make a connection and that awesome body would ride me like a Harley on a bad piece of road. I couldn’t even remember her name the day I ran into her while walking out of the Cherry Hill Mall. I just remembered that she dated some drummer and dug musicians. One of the first things she said to me was that she finally kicked heroin but her boyfriend was still using.
My incredulity at her sudden admission of a heroin addiction was complete. My mouth ran by itself. She showed me her trackless arms with an enthusiasm I had never seen in an ex-junkie and she proudly proclaimed she had never fucked a drug dealer in exchange for his wares. She even rolled up her jacket instead of taking it off. How do you stick a gold star on that and where do you hang it on your refrigerator?
My mouth kept on running, obnoxiously asking probing questions, my mind locked away saying, “HOLY SHIT” over and over again.
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