Nerd Bushido

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.

“Your hair looks nice.”

It slipped out of his mouth into real space. What had he done? Stupid, stupid, stupid! He tried to throw his headphones back on and lower his eyes before she felt the need to respond. One of the fat black ear cushions fell off and rolled in a sad half spiral before coming to rest on its side. Humiliated, he grabbed it and tucked it back in the space between the hard plastic and his ear. It felt lopsided but he didn't try to fix it. He stared straight at his laptop screen, trying to lose himself inside it, a flush climbing his neck. This was the state of the world today. This was normal. Guys like him had to give a compliment and then duck and hide, or run. And realistically, at his weight, running wasn't an option.

Saying something to a stranger was like offering a mystery gift that could be flowers or a grenade. If a girl with a Harley Quinn face decided you had overstepped your bounds, you might as well just slit open your belly right then and there and keep your honor intact.


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