Do you ever sit? she asks.
Rarely-he shouts through the loud thick music, thumping in the downstairs of the bar.
Why?
Why? Because it is boring.
I think its important! Just to sit sometimes. Stare into space. Recover.
They shout to each other, sitting close, bending to talk straight into each other's ears, smiling at each other like kindergarden friends finding each other in the sand pit after the afternoon snooze.
Are you afraid?
What?
I think you are afraid of surprises.

----------------------------
the same conversation, months later

Are you afraid? -she asks, with slight annoyance
What?
You're afraid. You are afraid of me-surprise, than anger in her voice.-I can see it on you!
No answer.
I don't want to be with you! I don't want to be with you for even an hour!-she really is shouting by now, and he still doesnt say anything, just bowes his head. She is really desperate for something, a sign, that indicates what she feels is not true. With her desperation, her anger grows.
I'd hate to think I am intimidating-she says now, with more peace, almost to herself, as if she has just noticed something, little surprised, even.
They sit in silence.
Yeah, I think you should go-he says.
She gets up, stunned. Looks at him, with a mixture of bewilderment, hurt and amazement. She doesnt even put her shoes on, just picks them up by the heel, grabs the handbag. Shoves the papers into the bag, doesnt close, doesnt matter. Starts crying, on her way out, big, fat tears painted black by mascara, rubbed to blurry black clouds on her cheeks. Lame with the lock, it takes minutes for her to get out, desperately trying to hide her big, fat, muddy tears. When she finally gets out she doesnt walk, she runs, runs up the road, never mind the winter, its mild, she runs, runs, until her eyes burn, and her tears stop, and than she realizes she's been running without shoes all along the busy street, full of Christmas shoppers.

--------------------------------

Loud, thumping music in a downstairs nightclub. Pretty girl, and a clearly very charming boy, older than the rest of the crowd. Both clearly drunk, though seem to be in control. Her dress is stained by alcohol and whatever,she stands, he sits. She stands in front of him. Clear sensation of glory, sweet glory on her pretty little face, happiness on his, bundles of trumpeting joy,triumph, and, most of all-unbelieveable luck.