Cyrano de Yorke

I asked Cecilia out at work today. She seemed genuinely enthused, but then she asked the question I had been dreading. "You're not still being stalked by that Chris Martin guy are you?"

"Uh, no, actually, it was Thom Yorke," I replied, sheepishly. "But he doesn't come around much anymore."

We agreed to meet at nine at the Stone Park Cafe. I went home to get changed, and I found Thom Yorke in my bedroom closet eating handfulls of Poprocks.

"Nice dreeeeeam!" he shouted, holding out a pressed aqua shirt.

"No, Thom, I can't wear that, its too formal."

"Open your skuuuuuuuul?" he asked, handing me a ripped Pixies shirt.

"No, no, that’s too casual."

Eventually, we decided on rust colored t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Thom insisted on styling my hair. He was very fussy. He bit his lip as he worked, and the poprocks made him foam a bit in the mouth.

"Can I go yet, Thom? I'm going to be late."

"I sliiiiiiiiip away," he snapped. He shuffled off into the other room to watch MacGyver.

I ended up at the restaurant at nine thirty, a good half hour late. To my surprise, Cecilia was still there, standing in front of the restaurant. "Uh, hi there," I stammered, "Sorry I'm late."

"Its okay."

We stood apart from each other in silence. I struggled to think of something else to say. I could tell this wasn't going well.

Suddenly, from up above, I heard an angelic voice cry out. "Your craaaaaazy kitten smiiiiiiile!"

"What was that?" Cecelia asked.

"Uh well," I replied quickly, "I said I like your smile."

Although the sidewalk was dark, I could see Cecelia blush. "Well thanks. So lets go get something to eat before I collapse, okay?"

As we entered the restaurant, I looked up at the rooftops. They were empty.

He was gone.