Once again, the world changes....
My hair moves, he's touched me again.
I'm posting bios on the wall, he's peering over my shoulder, reading the dummy copy I did for my own:
Cybele Pomeroy, Playwright, Assistant Director
Cybele likes to write, serves as Secundus to CJ's Premius, goes three days at a time without brushing her hair, and rarely wears colors because she can't be bothered to match things for outfits.
I couldn't justify writing more, as I was busy writing dummy copy for all the cast and crew who failed to turn in or send one on their own, hoping that whatever weirdness I threaten to include in the programme will prompt some response.
He reads the bit about not matching outfits, and wonders aloud whether that's why I wear silver, gold, copper and brass all together, instead of segregating my jewelry by metal type.
Flirting with me shamelessly all the while.
Which is contradictory, because I thought only gay men were aware of shit like that.
As I brushed Ginny's hair (this is not a non-sequiter), she said to me, "I so miss being touched. I want that. I NEED it."
Know what you mean, Gin. I do.