Tagged: co-op

When you go to the Davis co-op, you expect a certain level of crazy.

I saw you at the co-op today, 10/13/12. Around 5:30. You were blonde, short, cute. Wearing some kind of yoga pants. They were tight, black and looked to be made out of some elastic material. I think that’s what yoga pants are.

I’m a tall, brown-haired, wearing grey shirt with khakis rolled up to my knees. I probably had a helmet on. I was just locking up my bike. You were on your way out of the store to your bike.

We said “hi” to each other. You caught me practicing a character. I’m sure I seemed like a crazy person, talking to myself in that voice. But then, maybe you didn’t hear; I was talking pretty softly. I don’t know if you smiled because you saw me, or because you heard me talking to myself and felt like taking pity on the weird guy mumbling about a polarbear named “Pookie.”

If it was you, respond to this and I’ll buy you a cup of tea. We can talk about Victorian poetry. Or whatever.

But he’s pretty coo coo for organic gluten-free vegan fair trade cocoa puffs.

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