Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Eight
Game day.
Black dress seems right for today.
A missed connection.
Something about the way these sentences fall out of their mouth affirms that this isn’t right for me.
But this pumpkin creme brulee.
The click-clack of my boots against the cold pavement. Brown and yellow leaves and moisture in the air. No sun. Fall.
She asks me how I’m feeling. I tell her I’m always nervous on game days. That I felt like I wanted to throw up after I crossed the Pope Street bridge. How many years do I have to do this before I stop feeling nervous?
I misinterpreted all of the noise. Too close. Too close.
Yeah. I have a good feeling about this year. 1-0.
Forgot about these sleepless nights.