City Stories:

Scenario A: "Sure Am Speechless But I Picked You this Bouquet"
When she picks you up in the taxicab, it's cold out and she's all tweed skirts and gorgeousness. She hands you a perfect bouquet, the best one you've received thus far (if they MUST go and pick them out of the ground). She smells nice. The play is laughable in a bad way, but you're both laughing in the best way.
The Russian cab-driver veers all over the road on the way to the Italian district. His shaved head and pinched face make blue eyes that much more cold. he either just learned to drive or seriously wants the three of you to die together, human skin and cheap vinyl melting into the flowers she worked so hard to find. when the ride finally ends, you graciously thank him and hand him a flower. He looks confused for a moment, then a broad smile breaks that craggy face and you run away laughing, give the rest of the bunch to a beautiful old Greek woman who talks to you about New York and Cyprus and San Francisco. you both wave goodbye to the old woman,then laugh some more b/c you've got her hand in yours and it's cold and she looks so lovely tonight.

Scenario B: "Yes, In Fact We ARE Sisters, Roommates, Lovers, and Bitches"
It started with a wine date. The next time they got together was amazing. Before she met them everything was fine, there was nothing to genuinely complain about. But she noticed more laughter, more standing tall, more giving herself credit for things she did well, more patience, more enthusiasm, and a hell of a lot more fun. Cooking dinner, watching old movies, recounting sordid details to one another at 2am before passing out, dancing all night, being witty, going to see art and music. She'd known something was missing. But now she had her little bright-idea lightbulb back in place. Common sense moved back in as well. She no longer missed the point. And when other people did, these 3 girls turned to one another and laughed some more. Because being a veritable force to be reckoned with is just.plain.fun.

Scenario C: "Crazy, That's What You'd Like To Believe"
He will bombard you with witty commentary and perplexing compliments. He will buy you a drink or give you water when you've had enough. He'll run around the room half-naked in the dark, swinging his star-wars light-saber. he'll leave bruises. he'll bring you coffee and granola. he'll leave mysterious messages with involved instructions to meet him in a certain aisle of a certain store on a certain street, then lead you all over the city, thru dive-bars, thru upscale hotels where you laugh at the tourists and share drinks while the lounge singers go off and there's a panoramic view and a group of tipsy Australians and a room that rains every 20 minutes. he will tell you about his fake-metal band and the merits of the Rambo films. he'll pull you into 99-cent stores lit harshly in fluorescence, then back into another dive where you barely see 5 inches in front of your face. and he will feed you sushi and ask you questions and share the olives in the dirty martini with you. He'll escort you to the watering hole of Chinese gangsters, where the karaoke records skip, the couches are suspiciously sticky, and haggard looking call-girls abound. He will hold you tight and he will walk you home. He'll send you strange, funny, and completely unselfconscious notes and make plans for a dozen future criminally fun and obscure get-togethers. He will leave you wondering how it is that you haven't laughed this much in so long. You will question how is it that you're always drawn to touch him. He will change everything about the city you thought you knew so well. You will consider all this and wonder aloud if you are crazy, but then recall that crazy is just another stupid word that you don't recognize anymore.