The Girl With The Kermit Tattoo.

“She’s here.”

“Who?”

“This is the girl that I wanted you to meet.”

“Ok. I see her. I have to go now. Goodbye.”

The detective hung up his phone. And there she was. Standing right there, in line, at the Starbucks. The Girl With The Kermit Tattoo. She was reading a novel, by Stieg Larsson, and his style, some might say, overly liberal use of the comma in his writing. And short declarative sentences. Like this. His dialogue was snappy, too. Anyway. So back to the coffee shop. She was standing just so you could see her tattoo, on her ankle, of popular television icon Kermit The Frog, on her right ankle. She had gotten the tattoo while kind of drunk on spring break in Costa Rica. She kept the tattoo anyway; had kind of forgotten about it. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. It had been a good time. That had been a good summer and she had listened to that one Sheryl Crow song a lot. She walked over the table, and the detective and her talked.

“Did you see the other movie? The one before the David Fincher one?”

“No.”

“It was pretty much Rape & Coffee, Rape & Coffee, Rape & Coffee: The Movie.”

“Oh Jesus, really? That sounds disturbing.”

“Did you know the original title of the Swedish novel translated to Men Who Hate Women?”

“Wow.”

“Right. I mean, imagine reading that on the subway like it was no big deal.”

“Super duper awkward. Not as awkward as the pornography magazines they sell at the airport. That’s really awkward. Who buys porn at the airport?”

“I guess if you were on the go.”

“Huh.”

“Just masturbating on the go. Like I guess if I was an executive or something.”

“Weird.”