turned from 20 to 30. I was a little horrified. I thought maybe I was turned off.
But you were the same, really, you were as funny as I remembered and we spent the afternoon walking around. I was a terrible tour guide, I really was, I got lost countless times on streets I had walked more than twice. I was embarrassed.
It was hot and I was trying to pretend that I wasn’t sweating but I could see your forehead bead up, so I suggested we go into a bar and you said yes and I knew you would because you were trying to get me into bed, but I didn’t mind. My blouse stuck in patches on my back.
I ordered a white wine and you ordered a beer and I watched you take the slowest, willful sips that I had ever seen. There were fans directing coolness through doorways, shaving off slivers of thick air. Some of your words were eaten by the noise. I thought about us being in bed together years before and couldn’t remember what you looked like. I wondered if you could remember what I looked like. I was embarrassed again.
It seems like the city changes when it is being