Perhaps she shouldn’t have agreed to let Kevin take her home—I mean, he could be a creep.

Melinda and Kevin were seated across from each other at the diner. Their plates were strewn with a leftover single fry here (Kevin) and a hamburger bun there (Melinda). “Well, Melinda,” Kevin took her hand, “I’m glad I met you. But I have to be transparent—”

THE GUY AT THE POETRY READING BY ELLEN BLOOMENSTEIN 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 65

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