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Paris? That’s not a first name! (about Daveka)

I met her in a small store where they sold candy bars and birthday cards. We heard about each other because we owned the same type of car, and I knew it would be a matter of time before we met. People were trying to push us together, but I’m a pussy, so I was kind of dreading it.

She was her before she was her, so I didn’t have any idea. She was cute, I liked her. Not as pretentious as you would think. The media spins a lot.

It was about 90 degrees in southern Cali. She was wearing these tiny short shorts, a funky hat and a tank top. No braw. She bought a card and started writing in it on the counter before she paid for it. Not giving a shit about who was there. The tank top swung around her chest as she was writing. Small titties in full view. The old lady behind the counter saw them too and immediately darted her eyes at me. I acted like I didn’t notice, but I think she caught me. That’s when I introduced myself.

We walked out together.

I’ve called her since then, but she never called back.

I have a letter from her too which I’ll scan for proof, but I need to head out to the storage unit to grab it!

I guess it's not a letter but a note. Here it is: