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Muscle Memory Essay

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Jogging through the park had exhausted me. I had to sit down to catch my breath. My favourite tunes were playing through my earphones, but I wasn’t really feeling the current song. I took out my phone and pressed the skip button a few times, trying to find something appropriate for my mood. Sinatra’s “Strangers in the Night” briefly flashed across my screen, but muscle memory caused my finger to skip over it. In the process of pressing the “back” button, I accidentally hit a small heart button I never really noticed before. A message popped up: Your first love. Keep telling us what you love and get even better recommendations. I promptly ignored it and pressed “OK.” Satisfied that one of my favourite songs was playing I looked up. And that’s …show more content…

I sputtered out a “Hi,” which was probably louder and higher pitched than acceptable for an 18-year-old guy. “Do you happen to know where the Chatterbox Café is?” he asked me. “Sure!” I excitedly responded, “It’s right next to the supermarket, at the south end of the park. I go there all the time; their iced tea is the best.” I don’t really know what came over me but somehow, I managed to say, “It’s actually pretty close to here. I can take you there, would you like to join me for a drink?” The world stopped. I was certainly this extremely attractive person would laugh at my ludicrous request and reject my invitation. No, he seems polite; he’d likely awkwardly make up an excuse. Yeah, that’s what he’ll do, say something along the lines of, ‘oh, I’m sorry, but I have a thing and I still need to shower, but thank you!’ Well, at least he’ll let me down …show more content…

Lead the way,” said the debonair individual standing up next to me. My first thought was, “huh. Say what now?” Thankfully, my second thought was from some tiny part of my brain yelling at me, “YOU IDIOT, HE SAID YES. MOVE IT. MOVE IT. MOVE IT.” I quickly smiled to cover up the internal confusion I was experiencing and started leading him to the Café. On the way there, we engaged in some small talk – he asked me what song I was listening to and we discussed our shared fondness for Sinatra – but my mind was still trying to understand why. “Well, the Warriors lost, the Patriots recovered from a 21-3 disadvantage, and Donald Trump is President. Screw logic and just go with it,” my brain so inspiringly told me. We arrived at the Café. I ordered my iced tea; he ordered a tall, non-fat latte with a caramel drizzle. I won’t hold it against him. We sat down at a table for two by the window, at which point he realised he had no idea what my name was. “Oh my god, we haven’t introduced ourselves. I’m Jake,” he said and stuck out his hand for a handshake. “Luke,” I replied while shaking his hand. That tiny part of my brain from before went ecstatic with the notion we were holding hands. I wish I could say the rest of me was acted more reasonably about

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