Well, Fuck — Heavyweight Crewneck

Well, fuck.

You had prepared for running into them eventually. A town can only contain so many people and so many places to buy a perfectly ordinary drink. In the version you had considered, you would look composed, remember something amusing, and discover that time had made the whole matter pleasantly manageable.

The version currently happening has not read those notes.

They say your name. You recognize the way they say it before you have finished noticing everything else. There is a new detail, something about their hair or the ease with which they are standing there, and it makes the familiar parts more interesting rather than less. You say hello. An excellent start, considering the vocabulary available a moment ago.

You talk. Enough time has passed for both of you to have real things to report. You enjoy hearing them. You enjoy being listened to. The crewneck you put on because you liked the color has unexpectedly become part of an evening you may remember.

Then they ask whether you would like to meet properly sometime. You establish that this means what you hope it means. They confirm, with a directness you find extremely helpful.

On the way home, a friend messages to ask how the evening went. You consider giving the full account. Instead, you send the two words you began with. They reply almost immediately. Apparently you have selected a fairly effective opening.

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