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Let’s face it. Time flies, whether you’re having fun or not. She had spent a whole evening in the bar, drinking beer, eating babaganoush and pita bread. Now unexpectedly the evening was over.
The condensation from hours of sighs, sentences and exhalations was dribbling down the window. They’d mainly been his sentences. He was a freelance something, or a struggling whatever, he’d had plenty to say for himself and the words had poured out as he’d segued from trying to pick her up, to trying to pass time.
“Nulepsy”. He said “You know, the film. It won awards.”
She shook her head.
“A chronicle of a pathological need to be nude”
For a moment she thought he’d said “rude” and teetered on the brink of interested. Then she realised it was “nude” and she wondered if she even liked babaganoush or if it was in her life only for the childishly sneezy sound of the word.
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