Shawn Colvin concert, summer of ’95. I sit next to her on the blanket, drinking bad white wine.
Later, we eat burned Tater Tots, then go skinny dipping at 2 a.m. We're too loud, and the neighbor threatens to call the cops (something about people having to work tomorrow).
Back at the patio, she's on my lap. I'm on second base headed for third when the rattan chair collapses (talk about an unwelcome interloper).
The sun is rising when she drives off. It'll be another five months (when she finally leaves her boyfriend) until I get another date.