I'm watching the staff at the restaurant across the way dump trash from the 2nd floor fire escape. They're tossing down the full trash cans, then running down to bring them up empty. Huh. Clever.

Well, that was a great distraction for about two minutes. My mouth is dry as can be, so I'm downing glass after glass of water and running to the bathroom at every possible opportunity. I ate six bites of my lunch. I can't stop feeling The Irishman's hand on the small of my back. (Briddy, I do believe you're right about typing that nickname. Cumbersome. Must re-consider.)

He kissed me at the jazz club. It was standing room only, and he was standing behind me. He wasn't touching me, but I could feel him standing there. Then very suddenly I knew that he wasn't there anymore, and when I looked he was gone. For a minute I thought, "Oh, I do SO hope I haven't been ditched at the Green Mi11." I peered around the room--surreptitiously, not wanting all those jazz fans to know I thought maybe I'd been ditched--wondering where he'd gone, and then I saw him exiting the men's room. When he reached my side, we smiled at each other, and he put his arm around my waist and pulled me toward him a bit and kissed me right on the lips.

After that he stood a lot closer to me, and at one point I believe he intentionally breathed on my neck. Rrrrrrowwwwwwwwr.

Okay, I'm not complaining.

{ prev & next }