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It's up to her, even-if indeed, not just my imagination. I am making myself available. So-Joe, I said to her, "I can't afford this treatment, so I owe you. I will be your slave for life. Please treat me kindly".
"What did she say to that ?" Nothing; fairly traditional; I have said it many times. Actually I am not even considering it as a possibility. It is off-limits. I can't deal with this. I do it with all my other imaginary girlfriends. But that's infatuation spin. I know that. I do the impossibles. I am in mind-love. Better than nothing. I will treat it like an on-going possibility, with no expectations. Again I am in love. I will just await what-will.
I was telling Joe my bench buddy of the the Order of Hospitables, for I am the Narrative of Note, most-often than not, "Morning Marmairein, sunshine and calm", a story of Loveforlorn, one of the many characters I know. Here comes Miss Ni Hao I say to MaltaJoe. "GoodMorning" repeated times-three. She passes on, an indistinct wayfarer, on the road to paradition.
He had seen Ni Hao before, with some who he knew were very nice people, and sort of intuited that he might see her again, since he having given her the-look. They met head-on a few days later, and exchanged each a brief mutual - I'm interested. He met her again a time or two later and she said, "Walk with Me". He turned on his heal-round to walk opposite and said, "You're the boss". It was a death-march, she walked so fast, but he could keep up. He did his usual pompous sort-of statement-rant, he said, tailored a bit to her ethnicity. She mostly listened.
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