We've been having work done in my building for a few months. The same guy has been in and out of my apartment on a daily basis since Christmas, and we've sort of become friends. THE CARPENTER is gorgeous. Remember those diet coke commercials, where all those women were staring at that construction worker on his break and wetting their pants? He is that kind of gorgeous. Tall, dark and handsome. And then on top all those good looks, he's full of manners and interesting conversation. We chat as he passes through my place in the mornings to borrow a wrench or knock down a wall. Over a few months, we've learned about each other's bands, discovered that we share friends, and somehow have become friends ourselves. I like hearing and watching him talk - a sweet southern accent, dark sincere eyes, expressive hands, and plenty of intelligent things to say.
We cross paths at shows or sometimes on the street. We joke around, maybe flirt a little, but it's innocent. THE CARPENTER is not my type. Too pretty for me. And maybe in a grander sense, too good for me.
