First date, from a totally vanilla app.
The kind of date that five minutes in already has you sneaking impatient glances at your watch and trying to hide your ever growing yawns with great difficulty. Ten minutes in it’s either slashing your wrists, or the restroom window.
A dimly lit bar. She chose it, which is actually an encouraging sign. And a table at the back of the room that allows whatever little privacy the place can offer.
This time it was surprisingly interesting. The physical chemistry was evident right off the bat. The conversation flowed effortlessly and so did the drinks. I don’t really drink these days, and the liquor goes to my head as if I were a fifteen-year-old having his first beer.
An hour into the date we were enthralled in a heavy make-out session. My last memory of anything like it is from a field trip my class took sophomore year of high school.
I am not one for such public displays of affection, but the smoke-filled room and the loud music allow me to get carried away in the moment.