Attempt number 3 at some creative writing. I'm trying to let it flow a bit more and venture off into something less predictable than running. So voila:
“Did he have a shaved head? I mean like completely shaved, or just short?”
“Short” the average looking girl answered.
He couldn’t help himself, he had planned to use these few hours working, but he kept getting drawn in by the conversation behind him. The girls were speaking at a level which begged to be heard by strangers, so he obliged.
“Eavesdropping is a perverse pleasure that we all indulge in” he reasoned. “It’s probably biological”, he continued. It’s always easier to rationalize our choices with pseudo-science.
“Was he the one who wasn’t all that hot? I’ve never slept with someone who wasn’t hot. Well, there was that one guy, the chef, but he wasn't actually that bad looking.” the girl with the green shirt covered with a short grey sweater and multi-coloured scarf answered and commented almost simultaneously.
He knew the sort of girl she was, insecure and selfish. She was afraid of silence and her talk was more like a stream of consciousnesses than a conversation with a friend. It's why she was hanging out with an average looking girl he realized.
She wasn't unattractive, but she went up one point on his ranking scale by virtue of being beside an average girl and he knew that she knew it. It's what his high school friends called a 'hotness optical illusion.' "It's a classic move" he thought. It's also why you always have to separate a girl from the herd of her friends. It provides the proper context to assess her true looks.
Despite knowing nothing about her, apart from the snippet of conversation that he’d overheard the past fifteen minutes, he felt sorry for her, but he also couldn’t stand her.
“The one guy that I dated who was hideous, was so nice, but he was hideous” She continued, contradicting herself. She then segued into an almost incoherent monologue.
“Do you know the Merritt festival?” she asked to her friend, but it was thrown out there to anyone willing to listen. “I went with my two step sisters, my real sister, my step mom and my step aunt about two years ago. The last night I stayed in their motor home. The next morning, I’m waiting for some guys to drive me down the hill because there was a mud slide and I’m standing there, and this big green monster truck drove up."
He couldn't believe the crap she was spewing. But he missed something, so his attention shot back to the girls.
"...and he had a beautiful face—I mean, think back and he was just beautiful. I think about it now and he was just…so beautiful…”she repeated. “I was wearing green shorts that said “Bad Girl” on the back. He stopped and asked if I needed a hand, or a ride. I totally wanted to, because I wanted to be with him for a few minutes. So I told him ‘Let me just call someone with your license plates’, because I don’t want to get into a strangers' truck and get raped. So I’m about to get into the back and I see some guy. I’m totally surprised, but the hot guy tells me: “He’s just a Frenchmen, he’s harmless.” I’ve been partying all night, I was totally hung over, I think I puked the night before; I was just a total mess. All I could think was “they are going to rape me, they’re going to rape.” But I got in and the guy was being all creepy, but then the hot guy told him to back the fuck off. He was so hot.”
He couldn’t believe it. He wanted to reach around and grab her and tell her to take a breath, or tell her that no one cared. But he didn’t. He kept sipping his stale, by now lukewarm coffee, which he masked with two sugars and a creamo. He wanted to hear how the story ended. His work could wait.