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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473806" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Mr Nice Guy</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473806" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Mr. Nice Guy </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473806" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>Saw her stacking shelves at the supermarket, my instinct <br>was to take her in my arms, away from all this, and ask <br>her marry me. But I remembered we had been married <br>before, how she had wanted a divorce because I had no <br>ambition, a mere short order cook, and how the court <br>secretly had sided with her, and treated me with dislike, <br>and yes, I had to leave our flat. Later she married a man <br>who sold Mercedes cars, he wore a suit to work and had <br>shiny fingernails, but he used too much au de cologne of <br>the type who doesn’t bath often and rarely changes his <br>underwear. He stole money from the till and ended up <br>in prison, and me? I’m a manager now of a burger bar, <br>perhaps I should offer her a job for all time sake? <br>No, that would be rubbing it in, so let her stack shelves.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Oskar+Hansen">Oskar Hansen</a></strong></div>