First date

You smiled. I said hello. Outwardly reserved, I knew you were equally giddy. We stared at one another then blushed when we caught the other's glance. Sitting in my Tonka toy in front of that grungy Greyhound station, we shared our first kiss. When I finally drove the car away from the curb,
I secretly hoped we'd end up somewhere.

We had dinner. It was one of those rare times I wasn't hungry. Later, we walked down quaint suburban streets. We smiled a lot. I was sure we waddled. We brimmed with excitement as intense as any fourth grader's first crush. 

We practically took up residence in a chic coffeehouse with oversized sofas and gourmet desserts. We drank cappuccino, sipped slowly as if time would keep our pace. At our rate, we wouldn't have to consider going to sleep for another twenty-four hours. Oblivious to the constant movement and incessant chatter around us, we pecked at each other like hungry newborn chicks. We must have looked foolish: two middle-aged romantics ogling each other in a public place. If we had been teenagers, we might have left and necked in a parked makeshift room on the side of the road.






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