Love In A Library

How long does it take to buy a bag of grapes? Apparently, over fifteen minutes. Clara was waiting for her mother to come out of the grocery store; she was also people-watching. Well, not really. She was actually fantasizing. It only looked like Clara was profiling everyone who walked out the automatic doors because of her expression. Whenever she daydreamed, she always got a very serious look on her face, no matter what was going through her head. Right then, however, she was thinking about what exactly it might feel like for Joey Clark to kiss her and take off her shirt. Her eyes were not one bit glazed over though. You see, Joey Clark had very fluffy hair, he had broad shoulders and a six pack (Clara knew this for sure because he always took his shirt off during gym class), his eyes were big and brown, yet smoldering, and he dressed like a man, not like a boy. You might immediately assume Joey was a popular guy; one of those dimwitted, selfish assholes who only care about boobs and body count. You'd be wrong, because Joey was actually extremely discreet. He didn't make caveman-like sounds in the back of Sex-Ed class with his friends, he didn't "accidentally" topple into nerds and band kids in the hallway (he also didn't shove them in their lockers), and he did not play football. He was rather polite to teachers and girls and nerds and band kids, in fact, if Clara could recall correctly, she thought he used to play the saxophone. Sexyphone.

In her vision, she was in a book store. One of those old, kitschy little shops that sold tote bags and chamomile tea. It was her favorite place in the city, because the carpet was maroon and the owner hung origami butterflies from the ceiling and in some corners the books were simply stacked up and leaning against the shelves because there was no more room left for them. She was sitting in a creaky rocking chair with a book. The title of the book didn't really matter, because that's not what she was daydreaming about. Her dream walked around the corner of a shelf and saw Clara sitting there. He gave a small wave and did that cute lil' half smile thing. It made her heart roll up into a warm bundle of fluttering nothingness. Well, the thought of it did.

Clara was dragged from the depths of her repetitive fantasy when her mom unlocked the car with a monotonous beep beep beep.

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How long does it take to buy a bag of grapes? Apparently, over fifteen minutes. Clara was waiting for her mother to come out of the grocery store; she was also people-watching. Well, not really. She was actually fantasizing. It only looked like Clara was profiling everyone who walked out the automatic doors because of her expression. Whenever she daydreamed, she always got a very serious look on her face, no matter what was going through her head. Right then, however, she was thinking about what exactly it might feel like for Joey Clark to kiss her and take off her shirt. Her eyes were not one bit glazed over though. You see, Joey Clark had very fluffy hair, he had broad shoulders and a six pack (Clara knew this for sure because he always took his shirt off during gym class), his eyes were big and brown, yet smoldering, and he dressed like a man, not like a boy. You might immediately assume Joey was a popular guy; one of those dimwitted, selfish assholes who only care about boobs and body count. You'd be wrong, because Joey was actually extremely discreet. He didn't make caveman-like sounds in the back of Sex-Ed class with his friends, he didn't "accidentally" topple into nerds and band kids in the hallway (he also didn't shove them in their lockers), and he did not play football. He was rather polite to teachers and girls and nerds and band kids, in fact, if Clara could recall correctly, she thought he used to play the saxophone. Sexyphone.

In her vision, she was in a book store. One of those old, kitschy little shops that sold tote bags and chamomile tea. It was her favorite place in the city, because the carpet was maroon and the owner hung origami butterflies from the ceiling and in some corners the books were simply stacked up and leaning against the shelves because there was no more room left for them. She was sitting in a creaky rocking chair with a book. The title of the book didn't really matter, because that's not what she was daydreaming about. Her dream walked around the corner of a shelf and saw Clara sitting there. He gave a small wave and did that cute lil' half smile thing. It made her heart roll up into a warm bundle of fluttering nothingness. Well, the thought of it did.

Clara was dragged from the depths of her repetitive fantasy when her mom unlocked the car with a monotonous beep beep beep. How long does it take to buy a bag of grapes? Apparently, over fifteen minutes. Clara was waiting for her mother to come out of the grocery store; she was also people-watching. Well, not really. She was actually fantasizing. It only looked like Clara was profiling everyone who walked out the automatic doors because of her expression. Whenever she daydreamed, she always got a very serious look on her face, no matter what was going through her head. Right then, however, she was thinking about what exactly it might feel like for Joey Clark to kiss her and take off her shirt. Her eyes were not one bit glazed over though. You see, Joey Clark had very fluffy hair, he had broad shoulders and a six pack (Clara knew this for sure because he always took his shirt off during gym class), his eyes were big and brown, yet smoldering, and he dressed like a man, not like a boy. You might immediately assume Joey was a popular guy; one of those dimwitted, selfish assholes who only care about boobs and body count. You'd be wrong, because Joey was actually extremely discreet. He didn't make caveman-like sounds in the back of Sex-Ed class with his friends, he didn't "accidentally" topple into nerds and band kids in the hallway (he also didn't shove them in their lockers), and he did not play football. He was rather polite to teachers and girls and nerds and band kids, in fact, if Clara could recall correctly, she thought he used to play the saxophone. Sexyphone.

In her vision, she was in a book store. One of those old, kitschy little shops that sold tote bags and chamomile tea. It was her favorite place in the city, because the carpet was maroon and the owner hung origami butterflies from the ceiling and in some corners the books were simply stacked up and leaning against the shelves because there was no more room left for them. She was sitting in a creaky rocking chair with a book. The title of the book didn't really matter, because that's not what she was daydreaming about. Her dream walked around the corner of a shelf and saw Clara sitting there. He gave a small wave and did that cute lil' half smile thing. It made her heart roll up into a warm bundle of fluttering nothingness. Well, the thought of it did.

Clara was dragged from the depths of her repetitive fantasy when her mom unlocked the car with a monotonous beep beep beep.