It was at the eight-season oasis of my

retail desert that I first put words to it

"Well, no," I paused, as sympathetic ears danced

a thousand affirmations, explaining "it's

not that I hate her (persay) we're

just far too much alike."

Now, as I awake to husky static hints of sarcasm (that

voice I sometimes wish to shake, plead

'hurry up' as it pauses once again) that

voice far too much like my own

I also nod (olive branch gripped tightly)

and wish her good luck (in all endeavors, Parallel

and Perpendicular)