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Misappropriation
The swish of her skirt as she pivots left and right, wriggling on the spot as if her feet were nailed to the floor in her glorious shoes. Her eyes scan the room beyond me, checking who is watching and who is engrossed in another conversation and who sees her with me. I can smell warm maple syrup and hear Goldfrapp and her eyes sparkle as she looks up at me.
"These are the sort of situations where you want to have witty dialogue that we can both write about later. Ask me if I'm flirting with you."
"Would you like to flirt with me?" I respond instead.
"No, ask me, and then I say 'would you like me to..' oh, very good."
"Yes, I've seen The Graduate too. How about something more original?"
"What have you got?"
The walls are a miasma of stains and cracks, elaborately filled with crystal growths and arranged in such a way that the structure's immediate dilapidation actually turns out to be carefully crafted. The setting feels surreally fake, as does the conversation.
"I have a theory, regarding machines with moving parts."
She takes a sip of her wine and continues to vacillate left and right; "I would like to hear your theory" she says and takes another sip.
"The difficulty in understanding any machine is knowing all of the moving parts and what can go wrong and why. And the problem with someone like you is that you won't stop moving. You're like a will-'o-wisp constantly evading and dodging and keeping the focus of the eye on you."
She pauses for a moment, considers the theory and then shrugs.
"I just need to go pee" she says at last.
"How very witty" I reply.
Dec.12.2006