Sometimes someone says no, but less often than you would expect.
A strange man, sitting in a cafe, seeming to be lonely and distracted is probably lonely and distracted. If you sit beside him and talk to him and have any kind of simple connection and suggest that you have sex with him, with no strings attached, no numbers exchanged, no names if that is better for him, then he will probably say yes. He has probably never had this question put to him before, and if he initially says no, out of fear and confusion, he will often return the next day and retract his previous statements. You will probably end up sleeping with him and it will be fine and you will have passed some time pleasantly and return to the daily grind without complaint.
The ones that say no are the ones that worry at you. They are the ones you like. Someone you know and who you care about more deeply with each passing day. Because you have some glimmering of emotional attachment they see right through your prickly armour to that subterranean place where you are shell-less, all soft bodied crustacean. You lose your power in your fondness for them. You lose your sharp wit and your mystique. The people who know you best know that you have crumbled. Like a set for a cheap western you are all meticulous facade but behind the luminous detail there is nothing but empty space and wind and the prickly gyroscopic twirl of tumbleweed.
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