The paper that wrapped his burger was so greasy it looked like a stain glass window, and Greg went right for it. Right in front of him sat Stacey, Stace, Ms S, the one he needed to escape but who just kept coming back. Back up his throat he choked: he could feel the grease coat his insides in a way he never used to mind but now felt like glue. Glue- what he was stuck like with the girl who once was cute but now was just a problem. As problems go she certainly did have great you-know-whats, and that is not to say by any stretch of the imagination a personality. His imagination- that was the kicker- that’s what always got him into trouble. The trouble with reading is that you have lived a thousand lives already, but none of them are real. What’s real is Ms S, Stace, Stacey, the librarian who didn’t turn out to be quite as sexy as the librarians always were in his magazines when they took off kooky glasses. But glasses or lack thereof is not the issue- Greg is not a bad guy, all consumed by appearances. It is appearance that does the initial introduction, to be fair- hi there, legs; well hello there, upper arms (Greg’s an arms guy)- but it’s the conversation that hooks you. Whether it hooks you where you want to be is the question, or if you instead realize that the glasses were hiding more than a stigmatism. If stigmatism is what you’d call the inability clearly see get-out-of-town vibes, then this girl needed lenses three inches thick. Thick, that’s how Greg felt as he bit again into his grease laden meat slab, hoping with every moment and insanity-laced grin from Stacey, Stace, Ms S, that the calories would kill him.