DW Story 2: Most likely to murder his loved ones.

Still haven't named XXXXX yet.
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"That guy was so creepy.  Ugh, I'm never coming here again.  I can't risk bumping into him and ending up in his freezer!" Pleated pants.  Brown shoes.  Spacing out.  Murder!  When Anda patted her lips from her drink she looked to Mag quizzically.

"You wanted him to stay?"

"I don't think he was creepy.  Something was making him nervous - that's all" Mag said calmly.  

"If I weren't here he'd have cut your head off and taken it back to his place to watch late-night talk shows with an option for fellatio" Anda laughed.   You owe me.  Get me an Americano with lots of room.  

Mag approached the counter, and asked a heavy-set, sweaty girl for an Americano.  As the girl busied herself with leavers and pre-warmed mugs Mag asked her:

"That guy that was here a few minutes ago...

"XXXXX is a regular!  He's kind of weird, a little funny".  The girl said smiling.

"A weirdo?" Mag replied.

"No.  Harmless.  Worst thing I've heard is cursing.  He and his friends will study here or study back at Trinity and walk here for coffee.  Here, they talk about hip hop lyrics and girls.  His brown friend talks about Elaine  XXXXX mentions a Marg or Mag ... maybe Meg I don't know."  The girl stared as several neck tattoo bearing hipsters that were rolling their eyes in line.  Their urban uniqueness and contempt was palpable.  

Sitting down at the table she pushed the Americano back to Anda.

"The guy mentioned me to his friends, so said the counter staff."

"Let me know when you have your first date.  I want to look pretty when I explain to CBC how my friend was decapitated and had a pervert sodomize her headless corpse," offered Anda.

"Something tells me the murders aren't the ones that get nervous," Mag said with a tone that cut through the sarcasm.

"He's probably harmless. Probably."

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Nate lived in a below market apartment.  You could smell and feel the oily foods residents would cook on the walls.  It was filled with the unfortunate poor and disabled that were unable to work.  His father worked for the city housing authority.  Nate had a studio apartment.  A room with a kitchen and a bathroom.  If the place weren't teeming with cockroaches it would be passable.  It was just off the subway.  It was minutes from all the school libraries.  His apartment smelled of mac and cheese and whatever cologne he deemed en vogue.

"What's up dicks?" I said as I walked through the unlocked door.  Our greetings were more affectionate than not.    I had a swagger that was unlike me.  Definitely a boost in testosterone from an otherwise seemingly meaningless interaction at the coffee shop.

"You got laid didn't you?" Derek offered without turning from his game of Contra.

"No.  I met Mag at the coffee shop by Mech. eng. and we're going to go out," I said in a deeper than usual voice.

"Pause.  Pause the game, Nate. You're going out?  When? What are the details?" Derek questioned.

I explained that no date was set.  We were to play squash at the athletic centre at some time in the future.  I explained about the aunt with the old racquets.  I explained how I had to leave because of an acute feeling I was going to shit myself.

"Because you're the biggest pussy on Earth.  Your psychiatrist sucks.  She's cute but c'mon, shit yourself?" - Nate was hard to misinterpret.

"Yes but I have more than 24 hairs on my head, asshole" I smiled.

I would learn that squash was particularly brilliant date idea in the opinion of two equally dateless nerds.  Squash would give us a chance to wear less, on a small squash court.  We could get physical with sport as the excuse.

Looking back at this opinion is amusing.  Three perennial failures with the ladies - giving approval to a date idea.  The experience was just to unfold and made all the more interesting due to bad advice.







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