I wrote something else nice.
Her grip squeezed my fingers together.
The neon red sign flashed “It’s Italian!”, lighting the alley. The boxes sat out behind the restaurant, a red check tablecloth over the tallest. A heaping mound of spaghetti steamed on the plate, a large meatball right on top. I hadn’t decided yet if I would push it with my nose. The noodles were long enough that we could slurp our way to a kiss.
Her favorite scene from her favorite movie.
I hadn’t thought about summertime insects or the dumpster’s rank aroma.
“Crap, baby, I’m sorry-“
She turned, eyes bright, and kissed me.