Sunday, October 5, 2008

An Open Letter to the Asian Girl in the Yellow Top:

You are beautiful.

There I was, sitting with a vodka cran and waiting for The Prestige to start at River Oaks last night.  Suddenly, you and a stream of your compatriots flooded the theater aisle and overtook the stage like a well-trained junta.  The watching crowd (all seven of us) sat in awe, awaiting the next move, wondering what this invasion portended.

The boom box came out.  The music began.  Youthful bodies in aerobic gear pumped and gyrated to the sound of Steve Winwood's voice and Eric Prydz's beat.

You immediately outshone the rest.  It was just of you to be in the front row, though you should have taken center stage.  While the others slogged through a practiced set of moves, you clearly meant them.  I felt each one of your eager pelvic thrusts, hungrily took in each of your gyrations with my eyes.  You were perfection in a yellow top, and I would have watched you all night.

Sadly, that was not to be.  It couldn't have been more than thirty seconds before the agents of the theater came crashing down on your display.  The music ended, and you and the rest of your troupe ran out of my life.  I can tell you, though, with firm conviction: you will never run out of my heart.


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