We are the last ones out of the movie theater. The manager leans against a rail patiently as I wait for Bridget to return from the little girls room. Popcorn is ground into the carpet.
Outside people are whoo-hoo'ing and dressed up and bar will be last calling in a minute or two. People smile and hurry in the light rain dressed mostly in black.
New Years.
It's funny, I say, if whoever would have made New Years on June 1st we would be celebrating and resolving and getting lamp-shade drunk in June...
Don't make New years something pessimistic, she says.
I'm not, I say, but maybe I am though, I don't know. It just seems arbitrary, flimsy. I mean, we have this night to dream and retool our resolve and celebrate life and what we may yet be...we should do this at least once a month.
The air is cool and we joke about our eyeballs getting cold.