“That’s got to be her parents,” I said.
“I don’t know,” my date responded, pronouncing the “know” to imply skepticism over uncertainty.
“It’s got to be,” I said.
We were sitting along the Riverwalk, enjoying a glass of wine before a play. The cold hadn’t snapped yet, and amid the orange-pink sunset, we decided the lapping of the river on Rahm’s manmade shore would be the perfect start to the evening.
Orange-pink sky. A glass of red for me, white for her. Lapping green water. And lavender.
The lavender hair of the waitress getting her head scratched by the male half of an exceptionally drunk middle-aged couple. » Read the rest of this entry «