Dee Dee Flatts and Roman Roundandround had been staring at so many stars from the rooftop all night. Officially, it was their third date, and we all know what happens next if all goes well; the fourth date. Impatience lingered like a hungry pack of wolves, with slobbering anticipation, for they were young lovers on borrowed time.
This story takes place many years ago, back when you could see clusters of stars, a time before all the light and air pollution. Back when you could get an affordable and edible meat and cheese plate. Back when fruit tasted like something. Back when the news was on for only three hours a day. It was a simpler time. Nothing was so urgent that it couldn’t wait for the answering machine.
Dee Dee twirled. It was humble in its pure clumsiness. “I don’t know. I just love to dance.”
Roman was flat on his back trying to follow Dee Dee with his eyes without moving his head. He took a puff from a pipe and exhaled a cherry blend. He was confused. “No, I asked you, where do you want to go?”
“I know.” She jumped in the air and barely pirouetted, before falling down hard.
Roman sprung to his feet to help her up. He had natural grace, like an efficient fan turning on.
Dee Dee was awestruck and visibly embarrassed. “What I really meant was, I love to sing.” She demonstrated. The melody was 2,000 pounds, and she could not carry it.