You were very much the epitome of pink haired punk girl - you might’ve had a violent yellow lock in your hair too? - trying to get something late night at a deli on Ditmars Blvd. I was the tall Asian guy with bright red high top shoes waiting outside the deli; you tried to go in, I said you needed to use the window.
We locked eyes briefly — I smiled, you did too. And that was it. Saturday, around midnight, October 2nd. I wanted to ask your number, but moreso, I always wanted to do one of these posts. You seemed sweet but out of place, like me, here in Astoria.
Contact me? Things felt vibrant that night.
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