I met her at a gala. I wasn’t invited to the gala but i silver-tongued my way in there. It was beautiful. The place was as black as space and only the important things lit up. It began from the lobby entrance to the third floor and encircled the lobby. Like a mall. A mall of art and lights. She, like I, wasn’t interested in the art but found the people walking by and looking at things and giving commentary interesting.

I was walking by one of the ignorable exhibits with some friends, all female, and having listened to them talk about cowardly men for 3 stories saw one sitting alone in one of the lounge chairs. She wore shorts and a blouse with a backpack. I had a backpack too. That was all we had in common. I got up from our group without a word and walked over to her.

We made no smalltalk, and instead immediately bombarded each other with ideas. Some jokingly funny, and some profoundly significant in a few short words. She had this foreign accent rooted in latin and I, mainstream regular. Somehow we talked each other into walking the rest of the the 3rd story. My friends, snickered and gave me thumbs ups, so that meant i could ignore them but would be hammered by questions later at the bar. The bar, any bar, was my compensation, but that’s not important except to tell you I didn’t want to be there.

I didn’t think I would find anything at the place interesting. I believed my presence was simply a courtesy to anyone else. But there I was enjoying myself with this creature that didn’t have a name. This is significant because she rolled off the railing near the escalator and plummeted 3 stories before I even knew her name. She didn’t hop or jump off, she just rolled over the railing like she wasn’t in a hurry to die, but more like she was just annoyed at how long she’d waited. I screamed.

I didn’t scream because of the horror. I screamed because here she was this impressive being I’d never met, decided to die right before we did. I listened to her fully when she talked about things, and talked about things she thought she had nothing to do with, as the things that stick in your mind say much about you. I understood her. But she went down expressly anyway, so I screamed.

I took the elevator down and asked the person attending her if she was still breathing. She was. I asked her for her phone number. She pulled out a black pen and wrote “lobos” on my palm.  Then she clocked out. To this day, I don’t know if she meant she was a wolf, or that I was. Was I so appalling that she rolled out of a 3 story height to escape me? Or was she calling me a wolf? Was she saying she was? Maybe we both were. In sheeps clothing, pretending to enjoy 3 stories of shit, like everyone else.

I never got her name, or her number.


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