#54
If you want to sit outside, you’ll have to wait about thirty minutes.
Me: everyone wants to sit outside these days.
Her: I know. What do you think?
We left our number and went to the bar down the street which had a wide open patio with no TVs or music playing. Jello shots were $1. We both ordered two shots of tequila and sat down to wait.
She drank one quickly and let the warmth reach her face, which flushed a light pink color on her pale skin. I drank both in succession.
Her: do you think we’ll have time to stop at that store we like before we have to head back?
Me: we can make time.
Her: you don’t make time, it’s already there.
Me: then we will use the time already available to stop past.
They sell these black and white cookies, the kind you might find in a New York deli, that we both like, among other things. She likes this perfume that smells of the desert, that this store sells, and the cafe next to it does one of the best espressos in the desert, so we always make it a habit to stop past when we come to town.
Outside college students mixed with locals, the tram pulls through the middle of the street, headed south toward the downtown, their are birds chirping somewhere in the distance.
Her: you feel a lot closer to the mountains here.
I look down just as the text message arrives on the phone, the table is ready.
Me: table’s ready, let’s go.
She toasts her tequila shot to someone, something, downs it and slams the glass on the table, pops off her stool,
Her: ready.