Chick and Velvet

She was an architect from Huntsville, Alabama. He was a car salesman from Scottsboro, just forty-one miles away. He was kind of cute — medium height with sandy brown hair. His name was Chick, short for Charles. They’d met at a wedding because the groom was late (another story).
After a fun night of dancing at the reception (the groom finally showed up), Laurie agreed to drive to Chick’s place after work one week night so they could go to dinner.
When she got to Scottsboro, Chick was watching TV with his roomie. Laurie sat down and took in his decorating style – velvet painting over the brown couch, a bunch of dogs playing poker. No reading lights, no end tables –it was a bachelor pad, for sure.
Laurie’s stomach growled, but Chick kept leaving the room.
“Your date is hungry,” the roomie said. “I can hear her stomach over here. Feed her already.”
“She’s not that hungry,” Chick said, leaving the room yet again.
Where was he going? What was he doing? Why did he keep going outside?
Laurie considered leaving, but Chick had promised her dinner, and it was long way back to Huntsville. They finally went out to get a bite, but he acted agitated and weird.
It finally occurred to Laurie that Chick had been doing drugs. Cocaine? She wasn’t sure. If only he’d been smoking pot, then she would’ve gotten her dinner sooner.

Couldda Wouldda Shouldda
If Laurie would’ve given Chick another chance, she would’ve gone over to his house again, waited while Chick ran outside multiple times, and struck up a conversation with the roommate. They would’ve realized they had more in common (as in, not being buzzed on cocaine), and Laurie and Roomie would’ve dated for two years and then gotten married, at which time she would’ve discovered that he owned the velvet painting. She would’ve relegated it to the basement of their split level house when her job took them to Northern California.

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