Morgan and I had already found some pretty entertaining ways to amuse ourselves. One night she performed a live concert for me, playing guitar and singing in our party room with the strobe and black lights on. We drank every variation of alcohol we’d ever heard of, and made Black Lives Matter and pride posters to hang outside our house.
I needed to think of something new.
“Let’s get dressed up and go out tonight,” I told Morgan on our next day off. “I have some plans for us.”
“Sounds good.”
Morgan dressed as if she were going to a club: short skirt, make-up, and all, her hair beautiful. I put on a dress. I never wore make-up, but I let my hair down and I decided to drive. It was about seven o’clock, still light outside.
“You deserve a special night,” I told her. “Let’s go.”
The first
