They ordered. She got a chamomile tea (un-ironic, he noted). He got a black coffee. The first five minutes were the usual landmines: What do you do? (She was a bike messenger and a part-time darkroom technician. He was a temp at a publishing house.) Where do you live? (She had a studio in Williamsburg before Williamsburg was a punchline. He had a shared walk-up in the East Village.)
At 10:47 PM, the barista started stacking chairs. They walked out into the drizzly night. Her bike was chained to a signpost—a purple fixed-gear with a bent fender. blind dating 2006
“So,” she said, wrapping her hands around the mug. “Mark said you hate when people ask ‘what’s your favorite movie?’ because it reduces everything to a ranking.” They ordered
Leo laughed. “I said that once. Drunk. On New Year’s.” The first five minutes were the usual landmines:
“Well,” she said, pulling up her hood. “This is the part where one of us says we should do this again , and then we both text each other three days later with a vague ‘how’s it going?’”
“Leo?” she asked, sliding into the seat across from him. Up close, she had a tiny scar on her chin. He noticed everything.