She had large beautiful eyes and a wide nose. She wore a dark pair of designer sunglasses. Guccis or something. She had money or knew people with mone.... The background was a nice looking backyard, and she was lying down in some landscaped rocks beside a blue pool.Thankfully, there's Google and Facebook, and this chick, beside not being able to write a 2 page fuck story, gave me her real name. I copy pasted Brooke Anne Jackson into the search bar and presto, my chocolate cupcake bunny piece of. Do you believe in time travel too?"The audience behind her let out a few laughs, which ended when she swung her head around to look at who was laughing.When she turned around to talk to me again, I interrupted her before she got another word in. "I just don't understand. Last time we met in Medical you were reading my personal medical records. I assumed you were a medical doctor or biologist."Dr. Malt turned bright red in horror. The looks on the faces of the audience were satisfying, as were. And most of all: she brought her Eyes – the two magical buoys that kept his spirit from drowning. Was he drowning now? Was he still alive?A ringing sound pulled him out of his funk. It took him seconds to realize it was a phone ­– his phone. He never knew he still had it. The ringing stopped by the time he'd turned his body enough to grab the cell. There was a voice mail message, her Voice. "Still sleeping?" it said. Excitement kicked his guts. It felt unusual to smile. He pushed her. That is until the end of the night.It was about 2am and the place was closing down, all the bands were packing up and the bar was closing; everyone was leaving through the big gate. Some, however, were staying behind to talk to friends or just hang around drinking.I was standing next to the band tent when my old school pal walked over, we shook hands and within seconds were laughing about good old times, that is until he saw an old friend/lover. He walked over to her and I followed, seeing that.
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