“I bet that you look good on the dance floor…”

The guitars roared. The drums pounded. She danced. Our eyes met.

I worked my way through the crowded club.

“Can I buy you a drink?” I yelled into her ear. It was pretty loud in there.

“No, thanks! I’ve already got one!” she said, smiling as she pulled a flask from her pocket.

She offered the flask to me. I took a swig and coughed. I don’t know what it was, but it was stronger than anything I had ever had. We ended up dancing the night away, passing the flask back and forth.

When the band was through, we took our party outside and danced in the streets to music only we could hear. She was spouting lines of Ginsberg while I just shambled along after her. We made it back to my flat and finished the night in bliss.

2 years later, I was married. Oh, not to her, no! When I woke up, she was gone. No note or number. I met my wife, my perfect girl, at a Killers concert about two weeks after that night. She’s absolutely perfect for me. I love her so much.