Romance

When I was working a dead-end retail job in Noho, I met a girl who went to Smith. Her name was Pascal and she was lonely and a little depressed. She was from Montreal. I liked her. We had a volatile relationship but sometimes it was perfect.We would meet at the bus stop outside the Academy Of Music at Pulaski Park and take the bus to Amherst where she lived in a house with three other girls.
Sitting in the back of the bus, next to the window that only closed halfway, the cool autumn wind would blow in, while Pascal would tell corny jokes, trying to hide her crooked tooth with her hand as she laughed at her own punch-lines.Love! Street lamps illuminated the fallen leaves that swirled all around the flying bus, as I leaned close to hear. Later, at her house door, she would kiss me, scent of perfume, and slight taste of nicotine. One of those nights, walking back to the bus stop, tripping in a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors and emotion in which I could make out nothing, I heard a sweet voice whisper, "You are a romantic!"