Semi-Daily Scribbles

May 11th, 1996 was the day we met. Me in purple velvet bell bottoms bought at The Potter's House and a little, lacy cami (a doily, really) to cover the upper bits. You in lederhosen and a grey t-shirt with the name Stuckey's stamped in red letters across the chest. A downpour, a shallow stoop, a battered black square of canvas stretched over the doorway of Archie's Shoe Repair served as cover to keep fat drops of rain off our faces. We scattered toward shelter at the same exact moment. What were the chances? No random act, this. You remember, don't you? The way we met happened just so.
 
You said:

Seems we didn't listen to the weatherman today.

I said:

No. But then when is that guy ever right?