I stirred my drink, injected sips into my mouth. I set it down and stirred again. And after a few minutes she reemerged from the ladies room. She walked a long way with a smile. And I remained similar in that giddy way old folks would tell their youngsters about that “one time” when it all came together.

She told me her friends hate her boots. That she wishes more people were addicted to music. And that life at 25 does not mean the clock is ticking. She asks me about love and what it means to me and I divulge much of what is written here. I tell her I’m too sensitive about these things. She says she is too.

This goes on and on in wonderful fashion, but really… the thing I remember most is not the things we said or wished for or honestly plead about but merely the inescapable laughter that emerged when we looked away and then eyed each other again.