Ashton lost her nerve in the instant that boy looked at her.
Coffee spills precisely at the wrong moment, every time...
Her jimmies were rustled, and no speech would come to her
with a mouth dry like a deadly spoonful of cinnamon.
He was talking politics and persuasion,
taller than tall really needed to be,
whiter, too, but he sounded black for some odd reason,
every few words or so...but what a vocabulary.
He looked like an angel; he looked like a slacker.
He looked dedicated and faithful; he looked a bit spoiled,
His smile was enchanting, his speech was disarming,
She handed over his coffee.
It was just what he ordered,
One last look and she turned away, done and dusted,
But his was a wistful look at her back,and hers was a wistful look at his, too...