Thoughts while standing in line for coffee

I love a man with long hair. Loose or loc’d—it doesn’t matter. As long as he can throw it up into a messy bun, I’m his. All his. I would gladly bear his children. “Excuse me, miss?” The way he rubs his goatee, stares at me with those piercing brown eyes, I worry he may … Continue reading Thoughts while standing in line for coffee