I’m visiting a couple who are friends— actually more hanging out with him while she’s off doing something in another part of the apartment—and it’s friendly and easy until he walks me out to the driveway and then leans close to me and I startle and back up fast and say, no, no way, I’m not going down that road. but, too, my pulse has picked up in spite of me—I didn’t realize I was the least bit attracted until that moment, but afterwards I can’t help playing out scenarios in my imagination—and I rush around trying to gather up my stuff, a little pile of my jewelry scattered across the bed, in order to get out fast— though, too, I’m not in fact getting out very fast—and outside at first it seems my car’s missing, that it must have gotten towed, but then I see it mired in mud—along come the authorities who start grilling me on how it got there, seemingly determined to think the worst. back inside the couple’s house, he and a bunch of other guys are rearranging computer equipment—I try to help but quickly understand they just want me to get out of their way. so I’m loitering in the hallway, looking through the shelves at the couple’s books and feeling envious and wondering if I could after all be involved with him if she weren’t in the picture.
looking in and looking out