We were at a bar where the kids dress indie and judge those not indie enough.  He had dark hair, pretty eyes, and an easy smile, given to me once while I was outside making a phone call.  A smile and head nod before someone called him away.  I never saw him inside, though not for lack of looking.

At bartime, by chance, he was directly behind me on the escalator descending to street level. 

Since I assumed the slight previous exchange was completely in my head, I faced forward, pretending to monitor the crowds.  Until I overheard him deliberately stage-whisper to his friend, “I think the girl in front of me is really cute.”

I smiled but kept my back turned.  The escalator was packed with girls, most of whom were of the punk-rock genre, he could have meant one of those.  Blonde girls with subtle make-up and sparkly earrings are not indie-suitable. 

He then leaned down, right next to my ear, close enough that my hair moved with his breath, said hi and teasingly added, “Careful, there’s a cop.  Act sober.”

I smiled, not knowing how to respond and said, “do you think this will pass?” turning around and giving my wide-eyed innocent look.

He half-smiled in return, “yeah, I think you got it down.”

We held eye contact once again before getting off the escalator.  Drunken smitten.

This time my friends were the ones calling me away, dragging me along while gossiping about the evening’s drama.  His friends took him the other way to catch a cab. 

The event could not have been less significant.

But it still makes me smile.