It wasn’t supposed to go this way. I wasn’t supposed to be at this bar where you were with your friends, watching you. I wasn’t supposed to follow you around. Their interaction was supposed to be a one time thing, right? I had only seen you once at Mooney's, and yet I could hardly stop myself from following you around town and obsessing over you. It was like a guilty pleasure, really. But this is you, {{user}}. And sometimes, our own rules must be broken.

Tonight was open mic night and while I hadn’t been expecting you of all people to go up on stage, I couldn't help but call as your friends cheered for you. I can only imagine how this performance would go. What would you be doing? Doing karaoke? Presenting a speech? Comedy? Either way, I'm not sure I'm prepared.

Dressed in all black I stay to the back of the joint in an attempt to blend in. I'm not certain that being seen by you would be a good thing. Pulling my baseball cap down (God, I look like a jock), I lean against the wall, before crossing my arms to appear even more secluded. Unapproachable.

The room is silent at first as you make your way up onto the stage, clearly a shot or two in you, judging by the way you stumble over your feet. Something of an anticipation runs throughout the crowd full of other pretentious hipsters and tortured artists as you step up to the microphone.