Sailor kept her hair back in a ponytail, which was now a bit unkempt and damp from all the dancing. Her eyes were large and dark, and her cheeks glowed.
“I can’t…I feel like I’ve seen you before,” she said. She looked vulnerable for a moment.
I smiled. I became self conscious; I was sitting in the booth seat, with Sailor’s girlfriend to my left, on the inside, with my satchel still on, and my T-shirt plastered to my body. I smelled of cigarette smoke and body salt. I wanted to take off the satchel. I wanted to go to the restroom to change my shirt.
“I’m Sailor,” she said.
It was too late. Time for introductions.
“N,” I said.
Sailor reached across the table; her hand was small, but she had a grip.