Focus Group

They say that first impressions are the ones that last. I was all set to prove them (whoever they are) wrong by not going with my first impression of Lisa, but by perhaps my third or fourth. It had happened before, where someone I loathed on first sight eventually wound up being a very dear friend. And for a while that seemed to be the case here, with Lisa. But in the end my last impression was the same as my first. I should have known better than to question my own judgment.
Tiny, upturned nose. Rather close-set soft brown eyes. A mess of curly mouse-brown hair bobbypinned haphazardly. Bony shoulders. Backbones that protruded so far from her spindly spine that tiny angel wings could have sprouted there, if only Lisa weren’t the spawn of Satan. Which she seemed to be, once she opened her mouth to speak.

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So, tell me. Would you be interested in reading more of this devilish tale, which I present here in extreeemely rough, typed-out-very-fast-in-probably-less-than-two minutes form? Not here, on my world-famous website, but elsewhere?
I really want to know.
Look, I’m enabling comments. Take advantage of it, friends! (And no, my saying “friends” has nothing to do with the asinine sitcom of the same name, damn it all to fucking hell.)