Yesterday was productive. Job search, cleaning, reading writing. Went out for a cheap breakfast, talked to a guy who’s son is in TV, did more, then went out for lunch at Panera Bread. Maybe I’d go see a movie
As I sit there, finishing my food, I hear, “Hey you!”
I look up and there’s Maria, hair dyed to a brunette from the platinum blonde I had seen only a few weeks before. I liked the blonde.
“Oh, hey,” the nice in her voice put me off.
“How are you?”
“Doing good, and you?” It felt pretty strange.
“Looks like I’ll be moving to Orange County.”
She goes on to tell me about her sister, the cute older one. She got hit by a drunk driver and got ejected. The seat belt broke.
“Oooo,” I said, making faces as sympathetic as I could.
The last time I saw Maria it was weeks ago, after being told I was stalking somebody. Somebody knew my name, came up to me, asked if I was Jordan and said stop stalking inaudible. I said I didn’t know inaudible. Oh, okay, and the chick left. I go outside to talk to the 7 blonde I was chatting up before she was pulled away. Maria was there, looking awkward. I ended up deleting her number. I was rightly pissed. No one knew who said I was stalking, and only two people there knew my name before the bitch rolled up: Maria and the 7. Maria was friends with the 7. I put 2 and 2 together.
She had to go back to work. I heard “Engage, Maverick! Engage!” go off in my head. I gave her my number, again. I don’t expect a single text or call. But, for some reason, if this flake does, I’ll be right back around to where I was when I got here, except with not a single fucking care. I could ask her about the stalker accusation. How that bitch got my name. But if we end up going out before she leaves, I won’t say a word. There’s no reason. Maria isn’t in my heart anymore, despite her good qualities. She’s a target, through and through, and that’s it.