this is just great

tales of a charm city chick

I have waited 3 and a half years for Ed, the painter in our building, to say something to me. We have never spoken or even exchanged glances. Ed’s job is to paint 6 floors of flat, chalk-white walls and then restart at the beginning and paint them again. How dull.

I used to feel bad for him so I would say, “good morning” or “have a good evening,” but he never responded. I gave up and figured that he’s just an impolite dick with a monotonous job. Sometimes when I pass by, I catch him in the window reflection checking out my ass. Boys really will be boys.

Today I came into work a different way so I could spend a little more time dreaming up things in the sunshine. Beautiful days always put my head in the clouds. As I approached the building, I saw Ed coming in…

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