My friends and I are in an on-again/off-again writing club where the rules are simple. Every two weeks you have to submit three short stories that it took you 20 minutes or less to write. These are the results.

Craigslist Missed Connections

Sick of it All: Second Chance Slam Dance?

You: The girl with short reddish hair, grey sweatshirt, and cute as  hell.

Me: The guy with the green shirt, beard, and in the pit.

I don’t know why I didn’t talk to you. We were scoping each other out before Madball went on stage. I think my voice caught your attention, and then we kept sneaking looks at each other. I lost track of you once the music started, but you were like me. Once Sick of it All kicked in, you had to be a part of the action.

I was in the pit, slamming around as much as I could, and then we had another encounter. I got thrown forward and stumbled into you up near the front. We glanced at each other again. Did I yell ‘Sorry’ after the shove? If I didn’t, I should have. But there’s a lot of things I should have done, and the biggest one was to at least have introduced myself. The show was over and I saw you hanging out alone…I think you were waiting for your friend. You were standing close by. Was it intentional? I thought about it. Wanted to do it. Didn’t. Why? This is what haunts me now. You were giving me all the signals and I didn’t make a move. You left, then I hung around kicking myself. I went home and berated myself.

I’ve been to two music shows since Sick of it All, and I keep combing through the crowds with my eyes hoping I’ll see you again. I have it all planned out. We’ll see each other, and I’ll give you a quizzical “Don’t I know you?” look. Then I’ll walk up and ask, “Didn’t I run into you at the Sick of it All show?”

See, that’s a clever play on words there. It shows that I remember you, and that I have quite the wry sense of humor. But you haven’t shown up to any of the music venues that I’ve been to. On Saturday it was a kinda gothy rocky type thing (and it was terrible, you’re glad you missed it). On Sunday it was a hard rock show. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you’re only into New York City Hardcore. Damn, now I think you’re even cooler than before. Hopefully you’ll read this and write me back because I don’t know when I’ll be back in the pit…my arm is still bruised from the night I saw you…and I don’t want to have to wait that long to meet you again.