Love’s Chances
By Thomas Grant Bruso
We met in the parking lot of Great Escape in Queensbury, New York, an hour before sunset. The hot air was the consistency of creamy soup, and my polo shirt clung to me like glue; I ran my hand through my short hair, and my fingers came away, sticky and damp.
Under the boiling heat of a late August sun, I felt twitchy, waiting for Devon Ryder, the man I had been chatting with for a month from behind the safety of my computer screen. I checked my watch for the third time. I had only been waiting for ten minutes after receiving Devon’s IM to meet him in the parking lot.
Packing my sweaty hands into my shorts pockets, I leaned against my old car, a 2010 blue Civic, my heart pulsing.
Fifteen minutes later, when his light brown Volkswagen pulled into the
