to a boozecan... and a freckle-faced girl...

"Let's finish up here and go somewhere else."
"But it's 2:00..."
"I know a place..."
She took my hand, and we headed out. She led, I followed. I was more naive than I thought I was.
*knock knock*
"Is this even an establishment? You sure it's open?"
"It's open, trust me."
"But..."
"Trust me."
A few moments pass, the door opens. It's possible a password was
uttered, but I couldn't be sure. Our hands were still clasped, we entered.
This felt very film noir.
We had a booth to ourselves, the room was suspect, but intimate.
Drinks were brought to us, but I don't recall money exchanging hands.
People were in the washrooms for longer than they should've been.
We drank and chatted, I loved her freckles.
I don't recall what time we left, but it was still dark outside.
She was still holding my hand - I'm not sure if there was a point in the evening when she wasn't.
To this day, I couldn't tell you where we were that night. My head was elsewhere.

Thank you, QSW.

love,
anonymous.