I just know

Peering upside down through skew mauve-rimmed spectacles into my notepad, she said my handwriting looked like bent wire coat hangers.
'Like coat hangers sculpted into script,' she said, emphasising her observation.
Then an awkward, shy but shrill gighle; she was laughing at herself.
Because her breath smelt like cigarettes, I used a split second of a second to glance into her obviously moist mouth; it glistened, quite alarmingly, like the soft underbelly of a bull frog.
My eyeballs flicked, quickly, past the lipstick gate and to where her bottom teeth were stuck into her gums like a row of awkard flagpoles.
I could see the gaps between them, also the nicotine steins on her yellowed ivory.
Her eyes smiled-twinkled at me through the scratched amd fingerprinted lenses: I'm a good person with integrity they told me.
I love coffee shop adventures.
We're going to be friends for life. I just know.