For each day in March 2016, I’ll be writing these 150 word essays based on a sentence provided by a Facebook or Google+ follower of my little essay-lettes. Today’s is from Brett Cook-Snell in Norfolk who writes, simply: “Pipe Smokers” - - - - - - - - - We'd met on Scruff, one of those phone apps for speed dating and guilt-free fucking? Yeah - you know the ones I'm talking about. He had these unworldly blue eyes, like somewhere in his bloodline his family had bred with some blue heelers. His skin was perfect, it was like staring into an oil of olay commercial. He had a beard that caused me to have those lingering facial hair inadequacy issues I'd been discussing with my therapist. But more importantly I was clearly talking to someone with a brain. In the 140 character world, polysyllabism is hot. Hot. Hot. HOT! We'd traded a few photos and our texting quickly became urgent in nature. All our do's and don'ts matched up - even my weird thing about no sex before work in the morning. We both agreed the best place for sex was the shower. But we also agreed that Andrew Lloyd Webber is a talentless hack and that Sondheim is GOD. We agreed that crumpets were awesome, but french toast was certainly not awesome. We agreed that talking about politics was okay and that it was okay to disagree. We both thought it was important to volunteer. As I walked to the coffee shop, I was thinking to myself 'this is a man I could date.' I turned the corner towards the coffee shop and saw him waiting at an outside table. He quietly puffed on an old fashioned redwood pipe. He was wearing a beige Nehru jacket emblazoned with extravagant silk embroidery. He looked up, saw me and erupted towards me like we'd been best friends for years.