Practice Makes

I’m being stalked by Ron Barassi.

He follows me home, to the office, into this café. And now, he’s sat down next to me.

He says: “You suck at this.”

“What?”

“Every day, you come in here, make doe-eyes at that waitress and never actually talk to her, then go to that job you bitch about. You get one life, kiddo. When you gonna get good at it?”

I manage a wan smile. “Practice makes perfect.”

“Bullcrap,” he says. “Practice makes permanent.”

We drink our coffee. I smile at the waitress, but don’t speak. Ron scoffs, but habits break slow.

—–

This story was from the prompt Ron Barassi. What he actually said was ‘only perfect practice makes perfect’, but my version has less words in it.