She smiled when she looked down and saw that it was Rod Stewart and Jeff Beck on “People Get Ready.” I stood beside her and pulled some quarters from my own pocket. I could smell the light fragrance of her, and I pointed to some other good ones. She took the quarters I handed her and told me how sweet I was. Her face was happy and animated, and I could feel us making a connection already. All I had to do was be halfway cool, maybe not tell any stupid jokes, ask her about herself, and let her tell me about herself, since self is everybody’s favorite subject and they’ll think you’re a brilliant conversationalist if you get them started talking on that. We played Journey and Guns N’ Roses and Randy Travis and Joan Baez and Sam Cooke. Then I told her to come on and sit down with me.

More people came in but I didn’t notice them. I kept ahead of her drinking-wise so that I could keep paying, and after three I looked around and saw that the bar was full of people. I didn’t tell her that I was married and she didn’t ask. She kept talking to me, leaning over toward me, pushing one strand of her long brown hair back to the side. She worked in a factory somewhere in town at a desk and a computer and she had moved here recently, she said. We got closer and closer and she put her hand on my arm. We laughed and drank and listened to the music.

Later I asked her if she wanted to go for a ride and she said yes. I had some beer iced down in the trunk. They got a crazy law in this county. You can’t go in a store and buy cold beer; you can only buy it hot. So you have to get a cooler and keep it in the car. You have to always be thinking ahead. We left together, her holding onto my arm, her leg brushing mine, people I knew watching.