One is blonde, a totally gorgeous wee honey lighting the day up wherever she walks and whenever she talks, and is training to be a massage therapist. I told her she looks, to me, like a young Cybill Shepherd. She didn’t get the reference. Oh well.
One is from Louisiana, has tattoos, wears neon-red lipstick, loves Bukowski, and reeks of raw bad-girl-gone-mostly-good energy.
One is lovely, studies English at Loyola, loves JK Rowling and liked my stories about the Edinburgh café where she wrote the first Harry Potter book. Says I’m the first Scotsman she’s ever served. I believe her.
One is pretty and bespectacled and end seems endearingly kooky. Says she’d love to hear some of my work read out to music, picking up on its rhythmic intonations.
One just graduated Loyola as an actor. I haven’t seen her in anything yet, but confess I don’t get out to the theatre much at all.
One is inattentive and furtive-seeming for no clear reason; you know how you just feel that way about some people. She just seems like she can’t be bothered and should be doing another job.
One is black and very beautiful, another Loyola girl, works on Tuesdays and bears the name of a continent.
One is Hispanic and very attractive and drives a white car. Gave me a jump-start one time and saved me a lot of trouble by doing so. Said she feels like she’s been married twice with two deep relationships she’s been in.
One is attractive and wears glasses, studies Science at Loyola and has a super-intelligent gaze that looks like it could cut through steel or split the atom. I made her laugh and she told me I was an easy table.
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