over dinner, they re-lived the linear peaks and valleys of a life, together. like their first encounter -a story worthy of the question. “So, how’d you guys meet?” - “He got my Latte Macchiato-“ and “She got my caramel, soy Latte.” -an order mixup which had led to an in-depth sidebar about Gang of Four's Entertainment! Vs The Clash's London Calling. So, here’s to the next five years! cheers, gorgeous cheers, handsome. that night he dreamt he was hitchhiking to San Francisco. He found himself in a Semi with a trucker named Eddie cruising down an abandoned Interstate 5. The cab smelled of cigarettes and a half eaten Italian sub -which, somewhere around Barstow, had become sentient and was now seeking answers. The sky is blue, because? A lunar eclipse doesn’t kill us, why? War is? War is...because, you are all stupid little children! Fossil Fuels, Fox News, CNN, Global Warming, Flint Michigan! Flint Michigan! Flint, fucking Michigan!" "Why? -she dreamt she was in a green 1967 Buick Lesabre with a busted headlight and no AC. In the waking world, she couldn’t tell you the difference between a Maserati and a Mazda, but here, in this moment, she knew she was in an old, mint green Buick, heading in the general direction of the Louvre Museum outside the window she recognized Flagstaff, and knew Phoenix was 140 miles out and Paris came roughly 5,500 miles after that. and under the sway of night, at the prickly corners of consciousness, they each discovered that the other wept in the key of F minor. a reason to stay. -finally. Gorgeous thought. and Handsome thought. -an hour apart.
