Torn.

So,

As I walked out of the U-Bahn station at Konigsallee, I noticed this girl walking in front of me. She seemed well dressed from behind. Leather jacket. A hand bag and a tote. Denim shirt. Black jeans. And then I noticed it.

Maybe she's coming back from a sleepover at her friend's house or her boyfriend's. Explains the tote.

Her jeans were torn right at the butt-crack.

She kept walking ahead of me. It was the same route so I followed trying not to look at that spot on the jeans.

Okay I did sneak in a look or two. But only to be sure that it the jeans was torn. I wasn't looking, you know.

She kept walking ahead and then it occurred to me. I wasn't sure, but I had a very strong feeling that what i was thinking was the case.

She was walking ahead of me. She took the turn I expected her to take. And entered the building I expected her to enter.



I caught up with her in the lift.

Should I tell her? Nah, none of my business.

She turned and said, 'Hi'.

"Your jeans is torn."

"What?" She turned to look at her jeans in the lift's mirror.

"Right at the buttcrack." I said, pointing to my own butt.

"Oh shit! Thanks for telling me!"

"No problem."

She got off at the 4th floor.

I got off at 5th.

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