the waitress

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Coffee scorched my skin.

All I had asked for was her number,
but she didn't hesitate to lean in close
and whisper in my ear.

"I know your type," she told me,
as her waitress uniform brushed
close to my body.

She walked away, without a
chance of ever looking back. My
last memory of her was her plump,
cherry red lips pressed against my ear.

The stain on my white tee never came out.

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