"Ah ha," she stood up and pointed. "You are a purveyor of truth, a pop ballad lover, a brooder, a philosophical gardener, a pensive starer."
"And you are one to prefer dialogue over literary diatribe. Speak, educated, bespectacled, tattooed marvel: your shining, searching eyes light up this room." The gaze was matched.
"Mistaken are you, for I may be passionate but I lack true wisdom and conviction; perhaps a byproduct of my conservative upbringing, love of vegetable soup and predominant left-handedness. A drink, what say you?"
"Must we speak in this brash and flirtatious manner, stealing into one another's true nature only in minute sips? Discovery is surely better served in collegiality and without pretension, perhaps dressed in soulful jazz and icing sugar."
"It is settled - bring forth your heart, your ancestry, your cultural imagination and sympathise with me as I reminisce on times of strawberries, devoid of economics."
"You are surely an angel."
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