“Thanks,” I said, “have a great day.” And I turned to leave. Damn! I am such a coward. Next time I’ll get her number, I told myself, even though I said the exact same thing sixty-some dollars ago. I needed a plan. I needed an event to take her to. What did I think I was going to do, ask her out to coffee?”

“I asked the girl at the coffee shop out on a date. Unfortunately she said no, probably because I asked her out to coffee.”

“But back to the coffee. I was here on a mission. I just spent nearly five bucks I didn’t have for some coffee concoction that tasted like the charred remains of Hitler’s soul, and I was not about to leave until I had asked for her phone number.”

“I am what I am, and I don’t need to prove it—least of all to myself. And I’ll be damned if I ever answer to my clone. Who is he to question me?”

“Even though I knew she needed to get something off her chest, I was hoping it wasn’t her big, beautiful breasts.”

“I told the waitress I wanted some coffee. She asked if I wanted leaded of unleaded, so I had to leave the restaurant, because I quit drinking gasoline years ago.”

“I remember my first cell phone number still. I may call it and ask to speak to myself from eight years ago. If they say I have the wrong number I’ll tell them, No, right number, wrong time.”