Schadenfreude

“You like Thai?”
I laugh. This guy is wantin’ it bad.
His goods clear customs.
“Yeah, I like spicy.”
Waiting. . . Waiting. . .for the pickup line
Still waiting.
He smiles. Pulls out a pack of cigs
“One of my co-workers buys fifteen cartons when he visits his mom in Canada and sells ‘em for five at work”
“Cig dealers? That’s a riot.”
He looks around. So I am not only woman in the room.
Self-confidence is sexy; self-affinity is sexier.
“You seen those Brazilian murals down the street?”
“No. No, I haven’t.”
“I’ve got a smoke. I’m sorry.”
Yeah, you’re sorry–you just got here;
And I’m not watching your drink.

Turns and steps outside in front of the window;
talks to two tanks, and a Frenchi;
coughs looking at me looking back at the empty glass;
wraps himself around the Frenchi.

What kinda girl did you think I was?

Frenchi crosses back across the window–alone.
Smile.