Dinner with Tina.
I did it, my doggies. Everything I said. Met Tina at the Chophouse, gave her a little orchid blossom to tuck behind her ear, had a white zinfandel waiting for her at the bar, complimented her arms, all of that. It was like we were on that little automatic thing at the carwash that pulls you along, so smooth did it go. After the meal we walked outta the restaurant and just kind of fell into a big hug and kiss right on the sidewalk, consumed with the old passions. We were a little outta bounds on some '98 Cakebread sauvignon, and we fell into a cab headed her way. Soon her little black dress was sliding down and we were in the throes. My Barry Brickens were draped carefully over the dressing-table chair.
I had expected to want to leave immediately after the deed was done, but it was nice to be back in the old familiar situation. We talked all about this and that, stuff we remembered about each other...she even pointed out how I always like to make sure my shoes are pointing the same direction before we hop in the sack. I pointed out the old B-52's postcard she still had on her mirror and settled back down into the fluffy pillows and big down comforter. Tina always has kept a good bed.
A little while later she poured us some wine as we sat at the breakfast bar. She looked good, with her bed-hair kind of falling in her eyes, all with the same cute old smile. It was that bad kind of comfortable, where you just might stay.
Fortunately my cell rang and it was Téodor, telling me that he had just recorded some new songs he wanted me to consider for Prime Time. I gave her a full kiss and pulled out, one more kiss in the doorway as it closed.
I walked home smelling the back of my hand, which I had sprayed with 273 when I was in the bathroom.