I walk in from the rain and glance inside the trendy restaurant to the table by the window. It’s surprisingly busy for a weekday. I’m playing hookie from work and I wonder what the heck everyone else is doing. Instead of seeing the black couple engaging in conversation, I see my friend sitting across from me sometime last year. A fellow single woman in her mid 30s with brown hair and a kind heart. It was spring and we talked about the summer and what kind of outfits would flatter her pear-shaped figure. I offered my services because, for some reason, turning 30 made me a fashionista. Then we moved on to men. Where were they?
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