Picasso

I remember being told that Picasso at his rise to fame at a young age, in Paris would often avoid paying bills by simply drawing on them. They would be priceless, thus the restaurant wouldn’t charge him.

This is a far cry from where I sit, I know. But I can say I am fascinated by that idea. It reminded me of what happened at work one day. I don’t know why but I got into a flirting match with a girl. Not even a match. She would flirt and I would play her off.

But a man…

A man can only stand so much. I had no intent of calling her. Understand I wasn’t going to call her, but I played her little game. Where I would awkwardly let sexual conversation stop when brought up by her, I then allowed her words to be played by mine. We casually climbed the social flirtation ladder. I stopped around the time most ask for a number. She continued playing her words and her hips. I stopped. She played. I stopped. She played harder and didn’t even begin to ask why I stopped.

I would often use my waiter’s pad and write short essays and poems. She would always want to come around and stand next to me trying to see what I was writing. I remember her being eager to rub her chest on my arm, despite having no need to be that close to me anyway. I know she saw I never looked down her shirt or ever move closer in her direction. Actually it was casually away from her. Yet around the 17th time she rubbed her chest my way I let her read as I wrote on my pad. She let her eyes scan across me, she read every word. “You should write me a note.” She smiled at me. I can’t refuse a challenge. “Okay I smiled back at her.” I flipped a few pages in my waiter notebook and asked. “How long.” She pressed up against my arm closer than before. I noticed the numbers on the page as I tried to keep my eyes away from her. “This long.” She smiled and she let her fingers stretch across the page to it’s ends. She smiled. “Okay.” I stood in the back of the restaurant and wrote my imagination. I watched her in my absence she played and flirted with two other employees. She crushed their arms as she did mine. I smiled, shook my head and wrote my imagination.

Several minutes later I interrupted her flirting her flirting with the two other men by passing by her and saying only that I finished the note. I watched her make her way after me into the front of the restaurant where I stood staring into the sky. “So you gonna let me read?” she smirked. I pulled out the pad and tore 3 pages and handed it to her. Her hands almost ripped them apart, not because she snatched them but because she wrinkled with the paper as one does money. “3!” She laughed “nu-uh” she straighten the pages and looked them over. She looked over the three pages and again said with a smile this time “Thee pages.” I have watched many read my writings, and if their is ever a time I read a person is when they are reading me.
She smiled as she read
She laughed as she read
She avoided being interrupted by the other flirting males…as she read.
When she read my number at the bottom she chuckled.
“I like it it’s sweet.” She folded it up and placed it in her waitress notebook and smiled at me. “Your good.” She laughed. I raised my eye brow and with a grin dripping of seduction asked. “okay…so my numbers at the bottom what’s up?” I watched her prance away from me, flashing her embarrassment to the sky. She shook her hip and walked away. “okay…” she wouldn’t show me her embarrassed face.

“I’ll call you.” I let her dance out of my eyes. I spent the rest of the day playfully pushing away flirts.

That night I got a phone call. I informed her that I would call her later, because I was sleep when she called. I was asleep. I went back to sleep.

I have yet to call her.