I meet a girl with cinnamon dimples who works for the Red Cross. She asks me to donate so I put my number in her phone. She calls and talks about the money homeless veterans give her. I think about spray painting her father, scrawling clean the gutters, I can hear each leaf fucking on his eyelids. I think about writing I was here on her uterus. Instead we agree to meet and drink chamomile tea. She tells me I only smoke when I’m tied to my bed. I can’t think of anything witty to say so I sip tea and try my best to look mysterious. I try to look like the kind of man who does fifty pushups before sleep. She tells me the last guy I dated liked to sniff coke from my nipples. I pretend to laugh but just think about mowing my parent’s lawn. She gives me a hand job under the table and we talk on the phone every night for a month. We have phone sex but don’t see each other again. I whisper I wish you were blonde and had Mt. Rushmore hips while she tells me about the winter she lost her virginity.