Brianna Hildenburrow's found poetry using click bait article titles:

5 Jaw-Dropping Facts                   (About Leonardo DiCaprio)

9 Scary Things                                    (About Working as a Stewardess)

11 Ways to Feel                             (More Attractive in Bed)

18 Unbelievable Facts                                 (About your Vagina)

A Woman Tries                                      (To Hug a Leopard)

A Man Hides                                      (His Secret Second Family for 11 Years)

This Will Make you Cry                 (as Man Meets His Son for the First Time)

Technically, paying money to have a woman spend time with her wasn’t the weirdest thing Bri had ever done. That honor belonged to the time she made coffee with Gatorade instead of water in the hopes that the electrolytes combined with the caffeine would cure her hangover.

The worst part of that was when the manager caught her in the act in the break room and the whole office had to drink orange Gatorade coffee for the day and they all knew it was her fault. It also, in fact, did not cure her hangover.

“Okay,” Bri cleared her throat, “What’s your favorite animal?”

Paige gave her a very flat look from where they walked next to each other. “Reaching the hard-hitting questions this time it seems.” It was their second outing and Bri still had the feeling that her muse didn’t like her very much. Which was ridiculous because she was definitely paying this woman thirty bucks a day for this.

“I’m still getting a feel for you.” Bri said factually. “Also, feel free to choose whichever shop catches your fancy.”

Paige eyed her at the suggestion but looked down the long block of locally owned hipster shops all crammed together on a wide cobblestone walkway. “Let’s just walk a little bit.”

“What did you want to be when you grew up?” Bri still had her notebook out and was watching Paige with steady eyes.

“Wait, wait, we never even covered the animal portion of this questionnaire.” Paige said with a slow drawl. “Let’s see. Wolves have the appreciative factor of being a keystone species. They are also quite fierce and large which I respect. It’s hard to respect things like chihuahuas honestly.”

Bri straightened up. “Small things are respectable too.” She said hotly. “Such as ladybugs. And spiders.”

Paige shivered. “No spiders.” She said darkly. “You can put that down as my least favorite animal.”

Bri chuckled. “Noted.”

“Alright, alright,” she said and then pointed. “Let’s go in there.” It was a small jewelry shop with bracelets made of colorful rainbow beads and necklaces with bird feathers hanging off them. It looked like somewhere that sold essential oils in the back and told you that wearing topaz rings daily could cure depression.

They went inside.

“On the other hand, an animal such as the humble bee does many more services for the world. As well as the fact they communicate non-verbally through dance.” She said with a nod. “Which is more interesting than the wolf.”

“Wait, do you dance?” Bri’s eyes lit up. She could work with something like her muse dancing.

Paige brushed a stray strand of her long red hair away. “No.” She said bluntly. “But if we all communicated through several well-timed movements I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“Okay?” She wrote down a series of question marks.

“Now.” Paige clapped her hands together, “let’s consider the octopus next.”

“Will we be going through the entire animal kingdom, my lady?” Bri asked sardonically as they rounded a display of ornate leather bracelets with heavy dark stones in their centers. A middle-aged cashier in a shawl watched them warily from the counter but didn’t approach.

“The octopus is quite clever, it can change colors to avoid being spotted, and can open lids. Interestingly, they will also die after caring for their young for months on end with no food.” Paige continued unperturbed, “somewhat disturbing, but very beautiful in their own way.”

“Octopus are... beautiful. Got it.”

“They are.” Paige said firmly. “Now try this on.” She took off a bracelet from a display and gestured for Bri to put her hand out.

“Okay?” Bri put her wrist out obediently and Paige clasped a dark chunky leather bracelet around it with an opal in the center. It was surprisingly heavy.

“How does it feel?”

Bri moved her wrist back and forth. “Fine, I guess. Why?” She made a face, “also I may be paying you but I’m not a sugar daddy.”

“It’s for my mom not me.” Paige said dismissively. “It’s her birthday coming up and I have to find her something nice. She is always a perfectionist with presents and if I don’t do something nice… well, she already worries about me enough as it is.”

Bri couldn’t write fast enough. “Why does she worry about you?” She asked breathlessly, but didn’t add 'because you seem like the kind of person with her shit together. Why would your mom worry?'

Paige turned Bri’s hand over in her own hands as if accessing something she couldn’t see. Bri’s skin tingled from the way Paige was briskly handling her, but Bri didn’t comment. “How does the leather feel? Comfortable? Cheap?”

Bri moved her wrist around again. “A little rough, yeah.”

Paige sighed and dropped her hand. “Lets try the next shop.”

“Wait, you never answered my question.” She announced, annoyed.

Paige turned to leave. “Octopus.” She said frankly. “That’s my final answer.”

Bri groaned, but wrote that down. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Let’s go to the bookstore next,” Paige hurried her along. “You know about poetry, maybe you can help.”

She took the bracelet off like a cat shaking her paw dry and put it back on the little display. “What kind of poetry does your mom like?”

Paige shrugged. “No ideal. That’s where you come in.” She gave a lopsided almost conspiratorial smile. “To find something impressive.”

“Are you close with your mom then?” She plowed ahead with her notepad out and face scrunched up as they left the store. It was beginning to drizzle, but only like a barely-there fuzz in the air.

“We have a relationship.” Paige answered drearily.

“You’re not making this easy,” Bri said with a sigh and wrote down more question marks.

Paige shrugged. “You’re the one that chose me.” She pointed out. “How much of a muse do you want me to be?”

“No. You’re right.” She said and wrote down the title of her next poem. “Just be yourself.” She underlined the sentence: The Mystery in Red and then scratched that out in frustration. The Enigma of Thinking Women.

She crossed that out too.

“Are you going to let me read this one?” Paige asked in irritation as they kept walking down the strip of shops.

Bri just hummed. “Soon.” She said softly. “I need to edit them… But there’s the poetry reading I go to each week.” She peeked over her notebook and felt her heart squeeze in her chest at the thought. “You could come.”

“Maybe.” Paige turned away as she seemed to scan the area for any acceptable places. “Will they all be about me?”

Bri shrugged and leaned into her personal space (which wasn’t particularly easy given Paige’s space being arranged much more vertically than hers). “Maybe.”

Paige snorted, “is there a winner?”

“What?” Bri gave her a funny look.

“For the poetry thing?”

Bri snorted. “In a sense.” She said cryptically. “In my heart at least.”

Paige pushed her loose hair back again as she often did. “What day is it?”

Bri gave a very large, toothy grin. “Every Tuesday, my little octopus friend.” She puffed up, “So you can come next week. All new material. All fresh. All ready to blow their minds.”

Paige chuckled and pointed at a tiny nook of a bookstore. “Tell you what,” she said slowly. “You help me find a birthday present and I’ll come to your thing.”

Bri scowled, “The poems will all be about you. You’re the one that said you were curious anyway.”

Paige kept walking. “A little, but I don’t need poetry to tell me about myself.” She said dismissively.

“Fine, okay, whatever.” Bri followed after her and was dragged into the next little shop. It was dimly lit and crammed with books stacked high to the ceiling in no particular order. It looked like a second hand shop dedicated to mold and a “scavenger hunt” kind of system. The cash register was hidden in the corner and the space itself was narrow and smelled of dust.

Bri wrinkled her nose. “Well, that one is terrible.” She said while pointing at an Amanda Lovelace book in the middle of one of the stacks. “And that one is atrocious.” She said and pointed at a bright red Rumi one next to that.

“Are you actually going to be any help?”

Bri dragged them to the corner. “No. Not helpful, indispensable.” She said as she sorted through a stack in the corner with a “poetry” label up at the top. “Absolutely not.” She put a little blue book aside from TS Elliot, “my dead dog could write better poetry than this.”

“Okay,” Paige just watched her work. “What’s your favorite animal then?”

“The owl of course.” She said with a grin. “I’d want to turn my head all the way around. Oh, this one would be better used as kindling. Another Lovelace! The woman never stops tormenting me. It’s like she wants to ruin my day.”

Paige sighed and leaned back into the stack of books. “Actually, I could just buy her another houseplant and be done with it.”

“Don’t you dare!” Bri cried and continued sorting.

“Fine.” Paige picked up one of Bri’s discarded books. “I like this one's cover.”

“Atticus never met a verb he didn’t want to fuck.” Bri growled at her. “Now help me find some Mary Oliver and your mother's soul might be saved yet.”

“She is a very religious woman already.” Paige commented dryly. “I don’t think her soul is in any danger.

Bri shook her head. “You mean like Jesus? That man can’t save you from shit.” She pulled a slim white book out from where it was shoved in the corner. “But this,” she held up a book titled ‘Wild Geese. “This can revive, renew, purify, crucify, and save you all without having to meet a priest.”

“You are… very strange.” Paige said just as factually as she said anything else. “And would be vaguely offensive to my mother.”

Bri flipped through the moldy smelling little book and shrugged. “I have that effect on most people’s mothers.” She grabbed Paige’s arm. “Now come on, I have a new poem to write before I thrash Thresh into a thimble on Tuesday.”

Paige gave her a steady smile. “What’ll this new one be called? I hope it’s not that last sentence you just said.”

Bri simply looked back at her as they fussed their way over to the cash register. “No. It’ll be called The Very Practical, Mysterious, and Immortal Soul of the Octopus.”

And, for the first time since they met, Paige tossed her head back and laughed at something she said.