: The Night of the Moon, Mariachi, and the Midget :

I answered the phone half awake and on the other end was Yvette, the halfie from Chinatown. It took me a second to get over the surprise that she had called. I had plans already but I put them aside to meet her for dinner. The second time that day, I drove out to the Echo park area. By the end of the weekend, I would get to know that route well.

She was gorgeous. She made me nervous and insecure. I couldn’t stop looking at her and found myself at times over dinner trying too hard to be funny, working my wit beyond its limits, trying to be bigger than who I actually was. She taught yoga. She made her own music. She did commercials. She had more passions than I could name and I was enamored, eyes wide open, sucking up everything I could.

It started a little uncertain but a couple of margaritas later and we were laughing naturally. Her kisses were amazing. Soft. She smelled sweet like clean pillows and her skin felt like a girl I once knew in NY. We sang in the car on the way over to the bar. She danced on my lap and I was intoxicated in so many ways. And then when the bar was closing, the night took a surreal turn all over a spilled drink. “There, now we’re even” she had said to the girl. While I was clearing up my tab, my sassy girl had gotten her ass kicked. The night ended early and I went home feeling guilty that I wasn't there.

I know I'm supposed to be alone, but I can’t stop thinking about her.