"This is the most beautiful woman in Wilmington and I need to know her name."
Joseph's friend doesn't notice, precedes completion of exit. Joseph, now speaking to the girl he doesn't know, narrates his actions to the imaginary friend to his right. In front of the very real, and very perplexed friends to her left. And an old couple.
Last night he met April. He introduced himself to spring. He met her at a soapbox in summer, saw her hair down in fall. Remembered her in winter. Joseph wonders: "Could there be room in the middle?" Between each polar end of lives he's lived in his head with the beautifully dynamic, painfully befuddling opposites he's afforded the pleasure, the agony of two sleepless nights in lonely white euphoria.
"Yeah."
He smiles. Hers, apparently infectious.
"I'll see you around."
Maybe that's not such a bad idea.
Untitled - David Salle
