We met at a party. The kind of place I imagined many relationships form, without much hope of lasting. But our relationship was different. Certainly we believed it was. I suppose the main reason for this was that I was sober, and she was drunk. And as far as I knew then, all the best encounters took place when one half is sober, and the other is drunk. She floated like a dream beside the swimming pool, soon to be filled with scantily clad party-goers. Her hair, brown as autumn leaves and perfectly unkempt, blew then lifted, in the cool, of the late summer night. A pair of denim, high-waisted shorts rested just above her pendulum-shaped hips. Clutching a cider like an idea she’d just had, and flickering comfortably in and out of various conversations, she appeared completely natural in …
