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She had a nose ring. I noticed it when she said hello. She had long black hair, too. It fell forever and was thick like pounding rain. I ran my fingers through it because we were both intoxicated and I knew I would have always wondered what her hair felt like if I hadn’t. She liked it. Or, at least I thought so. She smiled. I wanted to make her smile more. I shook her hand after letting go of her hair and introduced myself. Her hands were warmer and softer than mine and I wanted them on every part of me. I’m notorious for having cold hands. My momma says it’s because I have a warm heart. She says that because it’s what her momma used to say to her. I thought about kissing her. In fact, I almost did. I should have, now that I think about it.

By Cole Schafer.

P.S. One day these one-minute writings will be a big book called “One Minute, Please.” Can I let you know when that day comes? You can say yes, here.

Originally published at

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I write pretty words and sometimes sell things.

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