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The Missed Connections guy felt too deft to play this game:

Fourteen streets and eleven grocery stores,

One restaurant and three bookstores,

Six bars

No one glanced back; not the same way he was glancing

Jesus Christ, Craigslist needed more poetry and less fiction

He wandered all day, hoping to find it written, and accidentally forgotten in a taxi cab

Instead he found a woman’s shoe and an empty condom wrapper

He left them there for the rest of Craigslist

He wanted movie theater sparks and hopeless longing written with Ezra Pound’s thesaurus

No woman would provide it no matter how many times he stood in Whole Foods staring at the Naked Juice and back down at her legs

Standing in Borders reading ee cummings, and back up at her lips – the ones muttering at the back of the paperback

No matter how many times he wrote inane witty couplets on bar napkins to slide one seat down

He even tried a young man once - he looked like someone Socrates would talk to and so he smirked, but the boy’s strong jaw contracted and turned away

He talked to m4wm and m4m. He couldn’t find enough substance to write a fiction. They had no plot. MAKE MONEY ON YOUR OWN TERMS wouldn't listen. He couldn't feel rejection.

There was no more poetry in Craigslist. It is all fiction or caricature. He wanted blood and flesh for simple blushing. No one is shy. Everyone is creepy.

The Missed Connections guy went home and sat in front of his computer.

There is now one more Rants & Raves guy.

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