Okay, so I’m super drunk, right? And I’m walking down Main Mall at like 2 a.m. It’s pouring rain and I must’ve left my polka-dotted Costco umbrella at whoever’s dorm we all squeezed into for the night. It wasn’t a fun party (hence the decision to drown my liver tonight).
A tall boy with foggy eyes drives an electric HOPR bike with a girl squeezed into the front basket. Somehow, even in the dead of night and this miserable storm, she is brighter than the dreamy street lamps — cheeks glowing like a sunset, eyes sparkling like an envious moon. She has one hand gripping the top of her head to secure a soaked hood, while the other glides like a one-winged bird. She shudders, possibly from the piercing wind or the biting rain; maybe from the thrill of her life being in this boy’s hands as he zooms down the sidewalk with the biggest grin stretched across his face.
He keeps looking down at her, making sure she is secure, making sure she is safe — checking to see if she is still smiling with glee like he is. A scream from the brakes brings the bike to a stop, nearly yeeting the girl face-first into the concrete. “You good?” he asks, panting heavily. The hanging lights stretching across the trees create artificial starlight, the rain is a romantic soundtrack to a dreary night and the strangers on a bike are the A-list actors playing lovers. I'll probably never see them again — it’s a fucking movie scene, and I’m too drunk to enjoy it.
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