“Maybe in a couple weeks?”

. . . why sit here . . . sun bright . . . window too hot . . . damn . . .

“Excuse me, this is the last empty seat, mind if I join you?”

“Uhhh, well, yeah ... I guess so.”

“I wouldn’t sit with me either, if I had a choice.”

“What? ... What? ... Oohhh, god, I don’t believe I said that. I’m so sorry, of course you can sit—.”

“It’s okay. I feel it’s only fair to warn you, you’re dealing with a contender for top position in BAA.”

“Okay, that’s strange, what is BAA?”

“Bullshit Artists of America. I’m Sean Reid, a founder. I wasn’t offended, your mind was off in a corner somewhere when I asked. I broke the governor for my mouth years ago.”

“Hi Sean, I’m Liz, Elizabeth, and it’s true and, no, I’m not that one, Taylor. I get a lot of wide eyed responses to it.”

“I can understand, but I wasn’t confused, you’re maybe softly pushing on 28 to 30, the other one died a few years ago and you do not resemble a zombie.”

“I feel like one sometimes, and I’m pushing hard on 40.”

“Okay, I’m 65 and I quit pushing, but 66 has a deaths grip on me and I can feel the pull.”

“No way! You can’t be over 50!”

“My birth certificate says I am.”
**********
“My god, we’ve been talking for 3 hours. No more tea, I’m hungry. Sean, would you have dinner with me? My treat for pulling me out of the doldrums. I want steak.”

“I’d love that, Elizabeth, I’ve been wondering about asking that very question, but usually I don’t ask me. I tend to drool, it’s embarrassing. I use a bib though And steak places have them.”

“You are incredible. What’re you doing tomorrow?”

“For breakfast?”

“... tomorrow? Maybe in a couple weeks.”

“Dinner then, on me.”