A perfect moment came from an innocent flirtation while waiting for my teen burger. She, pretty and friendly, was looking for a quick meal between publishing meetings. I have to believe that I sensed these things about her before I made the choice to talk to her, for I am seldom that bold.
The perfection of the moment, sadly, was not in the success of the flirtation. She walked out the door without even so much as a glance back. Unlike myself, I doubt she gave it another thought that day. The perfection lie in those brief moments of being alive. For a fleeting moment, there had been a connection, regardless of how tenuous.