Friday he suggested dinner somewhere new a Georgian place that had opened in Ponce City, small, no reservations, the kind you showed up to and waited or didn't.
We waited twenty minutes on the pavement outside. He bought two coffees from a cart across the street and handed me one without asking how I took it, because by now he knew. We stood in the November cold and talked about nothing much and the twenty minutes went somewhere I didn't track.
That should have been unremarkable.
It wasn't.
The restaurant was four tables and candles in mismatched holders and a menu handwritten on a card that changed weekly. We ordered too much because he read the whole card out loud doing voices for the descriptions and I laughed actual laughing, the undignified kind that came out before I could curate
