She was clumsy.
She forgot other people could not
tell right away.
And, so, she had raced in and embarrassed herself with a bit too much gusto.
Or, so she assumed.
She wanted him to take her dancing where real players made analogue music in a room where people were still allowed to smoke. It would be loud. It would be crowded. And, their lungs would hurt the next day.
“Sing into my mouth.”
That’s what she didn’t say. But, she thought it.
“Did you really just ask that of me?” asks the voice of consternation. Her version of Jimney Crickett.
“How would you know ferocious?”
“Perhaps you have not prompted the ferocity in my nature.”
“Hum. It is there. Abiding patiently with a kind smile. To imagine requires a capacity for imagination.”
“Hago lo que puedo.”
“You can’t always say what you mean!”
Matter is the matières of the matieres.
The contents of the materials.