It's unseasonably warm this December. That's the only reason you're here, on this corner. You, against your better judgement, make eye contact with her and she slowly shuffles toward you. "You know, they sell pop tarts over there!" She says, pointing to the restaurant across the street. She studies her finger for a moment before turning to you with a beaming smile. You don't know her but you know why she's talking to you- the vodka is fresh on her lips and the cigarette dangles on her fingertips. You're awaiting a friend and she's evading hers. But the night is big enough for the both of you and good times spent together trump solitude...so you oblige. You chat with her about the weather, New York suburbs, and the dangers of hanger. All-the-while, waiting, impatiently. "I read this article once," she begins, "that said people show up late in order to establish dominance. It's like, the person arriving late is trying to say they're more important than you!" She doesn't understand how that can be offensive and you laugh at the thought of him being dominant, by any means. You like her. You open to her. She does the same and for a moment you believe a friendship is blossoming. She asks your name and you two shake hands as you notice, just beyond her arm, your friend slide out of a taxi. Weird timing. "Ahhh! You're here!" She hugs him a half-second longer than is socially acceptable and his face reflects the faux pas. "Remember? We met at that thing!" She looks to you to affirm the story. "My birthday party," you add. "Ohh yeah! Good to see you." He says and she chuckles at how etiquette trumps rationality. He doesn't remember her because they've never met. She's a ghost: the inhale after a laugh, the last sparks of a discarded cigarette, she's an after thought. "Good seeing you guys!" She flicks the butt and walks from whence she came. He looks at you inquisitively as you walk into the bar. Maybe you'll tell him the truth about her, maybe not.
