You sit in the coffeehouse and stare at your cup of coffee in the screen of your phone. Not one of these pictures looks as good as it did in your head. But it wasn't really your head, it was your friend's feed. You go on her profile once again; you reflect upon it. How does she do it and why does it look effortless?

A stranger sits across from you and stares at you behind skinny sunglasses. You feel like she knows you skipped dinner last night. Upon closer inspection, she's the blind date you've been waiting for.

"You're not really blind, are you?" you ask.

She takes off her sunglasses and offers you a smile. Her teeth remind you of Greece.

"That's what I thought," you say, "I wonder why these dates are never really blind."

She raises a single brow at you. You feel like you've been hit in the face with a rock. She looks for something inside her pocket, you stretch your neck to peek. She pulls out a typewriter and begins to type:

I once knew a boy
Who one day found
His ass
Wasn't really an ass
But a face

You don't realize you're licking your lips like a pervert. She smirks at you.

"You have a brilliant mind," you say.

"Thank you."

"Is that poem about our political situation and how we are supposed to confront it in order to live in a better society and regain our individuality in the face of immediacy?"

"You got it."

"Will you please come to a lighthouse with me?"

She gives you a smile, but you're too busy staring at her boobs. They burn your eyes like peeing burns the tip of your penis; you have an epiphany.

You lock your phone and put it on the table. Suddenly you realize your coffee has gone cold.