A double date, four in a car, my friend and her boyfriend in front, his friend and I in back. After ice skating cold at Winter Gardens, we parked warm at her house, to save money, save gas, before he drove us home. He put his arm around her, kissed her hard, and they giggled for a while, before her strap slid down somehow, leaving her left shoulder bare. We couldn’t see lower, but something at trouser level seemed to make him joyful. I looked at him, and he at me, as if to say, Let’s spend the money, save the disgust, Walk five miles or call a cab. She was working on his shirt now, his mouth all over her face. I looked at him, and he at me, and it occurred me and him together, we might wish to stay, observe, and take some notes. She helped him with the bra closure, and they slid below the seatback, while we listened and imagined, and giggled once in a while. He walked her to the door, Drove quietly to our houses, and late that night, I got a call. We talked for an hour, maybe two, he in his bed, I in mine, and just before the final click, he said that what we’d shared tonight was more of our true selves, more intimate than theirs, and we should talk again.