The most beautiful woman in the world works at Olé Olé on 13th and Jefferson. I decided that as I was planning to make my order of a carne asada burrito. She is about 5'8, and had on large earrings and her long hair in a pony tail in back. I don't know if she is Mexican or not, but she has an accent.

I decided she was the most beautiful woman in the world when I looked in her face and saw her intent little eyes and very symmetrical features. Her long, narrow neck emphasized her good posture. She moved efficiently and the entire time I watched her moving around as I ate my burrito I never saw her waste a motion.

I looked at her and it was like "woah". I wasn't expecting it. Why should I need to be expecting it? I don't know. I was just thinking about food.

I decided quickly that she was the most beautiful woman in the world, but as I was watching her I noticed that her hair was cut in a sort of way that indicated that she'd probably have some sort of sideburns if they weren't cut that way. I thought about it as I was watching her, and decided that she could still be the most beautiful woman in the world granted that she took care to not grow out her sideburns. Otherwise, she'd probably still be very attractive but would have weird sideburns.

I probably ought to keep the part to myself about how she is very thin. I mean, it is obvious, but she is. I thought that maybe she was a dancer, because she is fit and well-balanced. I imagined her salsa dancing. I'm not a dancer, but sometimes I think about the idea of myself dancing. It is weird.

I have good rhythm. I could say, "well, most musician's do" but I actually don't think that that's true. Rhythm is a body thing, not a thinking thing. What I am saying is - it isn't math. I have rhythm when I play soccer. Believe it or not, it is almost exactly the same thing.

I decided that I wouldn't bother talking to her. I wasn't going to say "I think you are the most beautiful woman in the world" or "you're the most beautiful woman in the world" or "hey, I know a beautiful woman like you probably has a boyfriend, but I was just wondering..." No, none of that. I don't live there, and plus I haven't shaved in 3 days and I didn't really know what to say after that. "So... do you like existentialism and post-modern angst stemming from an overwhelming sense of alienation from all constructs of meaning? Let's go get ice cream." It didn't seem very culturally sensitive, and I believe in what my friend has always said "don't shit where you eat." That's not literal. It means, don't fuck up in a weird way that makes it too embarrassing to go to where you like to eat.

I watched her waitressing, and I realized that there's something about waitressing. Waitressing well is an art form. It is an art form of nurturing. Taking care of people with ease and grace. It is sexy in a way. I wondered if women felt the same way about waiters.

Even though I decided that I wouldn't talk to her, I kept imagining it. But I never imagined the conversations happening in the restaurant. Sometimes we were outside walking around and then randomly we'd start talking like familiar strangers. Sometimes we'd be at her house and she'd apologize "for the mess" even though her house was ridiculously clean which is also embarrassing. "Oh" I'd say, "What are you talking about? This place is immaculate." And she'd kind of blush, but maybe in a polite way as she quietly tried to determine how dirty I am. Of course, I'd say things to try to make her feel comfortable with me... to understand that my messes are self-contained and not all-encompassing. But it is hard to say any of this convincingly, because you don't want to defend yourself too strongly, it makes you wonder.

At some point in the conversation I get bored with myself and even though I have no expectations I decide I should get home to my dog. So I get up and put plate away and carefully clean my table to make it look as if I never sat there. I leave quietly and start writing this little story in my head as I walk down the street. I kind of wish that I had a pen and paper so I could write it immediately, but as I walk I find myself revising everything several times over. I try to decide what this thing is about, what I want my audience to know or understand. I realize that it doesn't really matter and that the weather is really nice and I'm starting to get thirsty. Eventually, I would need to go get something to drink. But for now, it can wait.