Truly it was a great first date, not so when you tried to burn the restaurant down. To be fair, I don't think you meant to burn the restaurant, nor combust the food more than it was combusting. The décor was, as it turns out, alarmingly flammable. My clumsy attempt at winking at you and saying something disarming, in French, may have contributed. Or possibly you have some bad memories I knew nothing about, connected to the French, their language, or their culture.
Barely singed, you and I ended up in the alley, next to the trash. You squeezed my hand, and said goodnight, framed by the burning doorway where we stood. The small peck on my cheek still palpable, even now three days later. I will treasure the pinhole like burns on my sleeves, and the gaping burn marks on my slacks from that night, forever. And if only my French was any good at all. Prenez bien soin de vous!
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Quail Meadow
Fall, 2013
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