“Open your mouth.” Looking up I see her take a quick swig from the half gone cigarette in her hand and pucker her lips at me. I open my mouth and look away trying not to catch her gaze in our exchange of smoke. We are surrounded by thousands of people, yet I feel like we’re the only ones here planted firmly on the grass drinking beers and smoking cigarettes.

Roger Waters sings the first few words to ‘Breathe’ and as they travel through the air my mouth is filled with the bitter taste of cigarette smoke while the earlier installments of alcohol wash through my brain. This is not a good situation. It was, but it may not be anymore.

“Open it again.” I do and this time I catch the reflection of the sunset and smoke off her sunglasses as it attempts to float into my mouth and down to my lungs. I suppose this instance could be poetic, but I am too drunk and concerned with the proximity of our lips to care.

I’ve never been good at these things. My attempts at courting women are like circus clowns trying to get a job at Citibank. What is to become of us after this weekend? I think to myself, but quickly lose my focus in the haze of intoxication. There are moments in our lives that you wish you could relive any time you are faced with the harshness of the often heartbreaking world, this is one of them and facing the world was exactly what I’d be doing in less than 24 hours.

“Don’t you know second hand smoke kills?” cries my friend who is watching us. Thanks Mr Point out the obvious. A note, nothing ruins a moment more than questioning the mortal effects of it.

Everything leading up to this weekend would suggest I should be getting somewhere with this girl, but everything thats transpired says fuck no, you’re not. I drink to the cruces of courtship as the sun sets behind me taking with it all our missed opportunities.

I need another beer.

I watch her pollute the air with cigarette smoke for a bit until finally she looks over at me and says “I’m really drunk” and I’m suddenly speechless. These are the moments, though fleeting as they are I’ve been living for every weekend in the last few weeks and suddenly I have no idea what say or do.

She says “don’t tell anyone what I told you” I reflect on the secrets she shared and wonder who I am to know these things? and who will I be once the weekend ends?

May 2008.

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