Taxi (prompt via Arlyn)

The second I closed the door behind you, after you stepped in with those flats you love so much, I started thinking about the funnier things I could have said to end the evening. The wittier quips. The punnier puns. The more worldly and exciting facts I should have mentioned to keep you interested in our dinner conversation (which you were, I don’t mean to imply…) as we sat in those old wicker chairs. The ones that I couldn’t tell if you liked or not. Homemade chili with necessary raw onions and name-brand cheddar cheese and fine wine from a pouch that reminded me of cows being milked. Which is not the best descriptor, now that I think about it, because I’ve never milked a cow and because the chili - the leftovers of which are now sitting, congealing in my fridge - was made of ground beef.

I watched the yellow fade into the late dusk and thought about all these things and nothing else. I’ll probably think about them forever. Hands sinking into pockets and left turns back home, imagining you saying “thanks!” (in that way that you do), dropping the tender gingerly into the cracked palm of Mohammed or Sanjip or Omar or whatever his name is, listening to the smoke monster from LOST print up the receipt you didn’t ask for. And then going to do whatever you were going to do.

And of course I don’t want to suggest that I’m some kind of a crazy racist nut or anything - because I’m definitely not. I mean, I love black people! Wait. That definitely didn’t come out right.

Forget I said that.

And do forgive my pre-pubescent nerves, for the know naught what they do. Or say. On this day, but also on any other day we may or may not cross paths, thinking about the everythings I could have done or said to change everything.

Oh, hold on a sec, I just got a message. You had a really nice time?

beat skipped.

Me too.