May 26, 2014 by Allen George
I see her before I hear her: a high-pitched giggle that catches the wind but does not stray. They sit close. Him with arms around her, one leg lazy off the concrete bench; she, head down hands locked, all broad and smiling. They are the brightest thing there, black and orange and alive in the liminal light. He leans in. Tilts his baseball cap, parts the black from her face. Reaches.
She giggles again.
I think he is trying to kiss her ear.