Back from my Economics exam, on which I had performed poorly, I managed to catch a glimpse of her gorgeous beauty as she entered the library. Momentary as it was, that heavenly vision sure felt like redemption. I mean, you should've seen her, gazing through her red, horn-rimmed glasses, giving away those painfully dishy smiles to almost anyone, no matter the extent of their brainlessness—as I was delighted to find out.
Usually I feel at ease in the library, my humblest soul surrounded by the thick peace of culture and all, but add feminine beauty and the equation turns deadly. Knowledge rapidly vanishes and all you're left with is an infinite yearning along with a moderate though noticeable blush—if you get to be as readily embarrassed as I am. I guess I could stop and think 'Well, given that some so-called professor doesn't leave me a choice but to master Karl Marx's afflictions in depth, I might as well have some fun.' Maybe so...But, depressingly enough, I seem to be better at Marx than I am at women, so I had to make do with an ancient, shabby German thinker instead of a gleefully sweet German brunette.
Much as I thought about it, I came to no solution but to secretly chase her and fake an encounter, then introduce myself, register her very much-known name, talk my usual nonsense and inevitably feel ashamed, dumb or disappointed—at the least. Small wonder that I stuck to the bearded, old-fashioned philosopher for so long that I nearly turned into a crappy, revolutionary bum.
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