He met a girl, this man who only dated caves. A nice girl, too.
But nothing.
They went out, the two of them, to have dinner at a local Italian
restaurant. The man ordered a ravioli dish that had little bits of
smoked duck and peas in the sauce.
The nice girl ordered a chicken dish of some sort—one without any pasta—and two bottles of wine.
The man watched as the nice girl drank one and a half bottles of wine.
When she finished the first bottle, she laughed into her hand and
ordered the second.
He liked the way she laughed into her hand after a bottle of wine, so he thought maybe they could go out again. As friends.
But he knew it couldn't work on any other level. He hoped she understood.
