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Conformist Without a Cause
The Story, the whole story and nothing but the story

The Story, the whole story and nothing but the story

Our eyes met across the vast space of the service elevator. He was Dominican, I was critical of the long term prospects of terraforming Mars. He walked up to me and smiled, his teeth shone like crooked flamingos, swaying in the breeze. I grimaced slightly at his forwardness, I was after all the countess of the Bermuda triangle and our union would never be legitimate in the eyes of the Pangalactic league of free green grocers.

“Your fly is undone.” he said to me with an easy grace and swollen shoes.

“I know” I replied with an exasperated smack to my left knee.

“I’ve never met a girl like you.” he said out of nowhere, making the soles of my feet sweat like a tired horse that was made a gelding with a sharpened piece of rhubarb. I couldn’t understand him, I didn’t know anything about him. He could be a murderer, a sadist, a member of a secret underground cell of Ice skating enthusiasts. I didn’t care about all of that information; I just looked into his eyes and saw all the information I needed to know, as he had helpfully had his resume tattooed to his retina.

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“Marry me?” I asked, eyes wide and forearms matted with baboon hair.

He stepped back and gave my body an appraising look, I quivered and the arrows I held in my open mouth vibrated noisily.

“No” he responded sensuously and proceeded to climb out of the elevator through the roof hatch and spend the following three years inside the building, swinging from girder to girder under the pseudonym ‘Mecha-Tarzan’.

We never met again and I’m honestly glad.

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