the bathroom

she had a dainty teacup nose and porcelain skin that melted into laughter in the soft light of my kitchen. her smile revealed two eyes, grey-blue-green like an abysynnian cat. she listened to old rock and roll like bob dylan and the stones and watched tv for a living. we met in one of those college writing classes where the teacher makes you read everybody else's work. she wrote about her fish for our second assignment. i found out later she never had a fish.

on a tuesday in december we met in front of a Japanese restaurant on 83rd. I stood beneath her in the dirty street. The sign in the window of the sushi place read closed so we walked two blocks to a rock and roll themed diner. The restaurant glowed a slick aqua shimmer and glittery disco balls of all sizes rained down from the ceiling, each suspended in time by a metal rod. We picked a table with the Rolling Stones tongue logo tiled in the center. Our waiter wore a vintage t shirt and scruffy jeans. He handed us huge oversized menus made from old LP covers and winked at us as we exclaimed over decor. You have to see the bathroom, he said.