Molly worked a few floors below me when I temped at an insurance company. She was slender and pale and could swear like a sailor. I was instantly smitten.
I had watched her perform a few times. An ex-girlfriend once gossiped about her in a Taco Bell, unaware she was over one shoulder. These were the kinds of thought that kept me from acting on the impulse to ask Molly out.
Instead, I drew her a picture. We remain friends, nothing more, nothing less. Red roses are hard in black and white.