THIS LETTER SERVES PURPOSE. The bold, Impact font stood out on the post office bulletin board among the business cards, upcoming community yard sales sign, and directly below a sloppily handwritten "lost cat" flyer. The loosely hung, 8 by 11 piece of paper whipped in the wind each time the glass door swung open. There were tabs cut unevenly at the bottom, a few missing, with just an address listed. The smaller typeface read:
Can you keep up?
SWF late 30's, seeking above average male(in every aspect).
6pm Friday. Seasonal work.
"Who hangs something like this in a post office?" Jack mused out loud, to himself.
"I imagine a frail blonde woman, with small hands, who speaks in broken English and has a weak constitution" a soft voice said, popping out from behind a row of package lockers.
"See, I think this woman has some confidence. She's direct and determined. She likes to shop locally, and you have to appreciate that in-your-face innuendo. Plus the inherent mystery of 'is it a personals ad, is it some secret escort code, or is it just a poorly worded posting for some landscape work?'" Jack smiled, glancing at the woman out of the corner of his eye. She was beautiful. Dark brown eyes, olive skin, and shoulder length, jet black hair with streaks of blonde. One half of her "Bettie Page" bangs dyed snowy white. She adjusted her square framed glasses and looked him up and down.
Trying not to stare, but wanting enough mental snapshots of this woman to fantasize about later, Jacks eyes darted from the ground, to the woman, to the poster, back to the woman. He blushed, "looks like some suckers have taken the bait though, even the 9's look like tiny fishhooks on a bobber" pointing to the torn away slats.
"Hmmmmm... okay, now tell me about this one" she said pointing to the lost cat flyer.
"Bah, that one's easy" clearing his throat. "Recently rescued, but not quite comfortable around the family doberman, or the overly affectionate 9 year old who stuffed him in a dollhouse for 6 hours upon arrival, this Tom cat saw the open 2nd floor window as an escape route and an acceptable risk of bodily harm to jump from that height, to flee from his captors" Jack said, grinning cleverly because he knew it was the truth. He had heard the entire story between the 9 year old and her waitress at the diner this morning over breakfast when she hung her flyer there.
"But it's a calico?" tilting her head slightly left.
"So?" he asked, confused.
"99% of the time the calico is female. You said Tom cat" she informed.
'Shit' he thought. 'Missed that one'.
"Thanks for playing and better luck next time" she said in a lower register with a game show host inflection, on her way out the door.
"Wait.." he yelled, "I didn't catch your name. Would you want to get a beer sometime?" Jack asked, ignoring all the stranger danger alarms going off in his head and pissing into the wind.
"Sure" she smiled, "Grab a tab."
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