it looked like a murder mystery movie. everything was shades of black and white and gray, with the fog crowding in eagerly and the regal lights of the bridge casting long reflections against the water.

we were parked along a deserted street of dark gray (nobody around on a saturday night? sure wasn't home) with tall, implausible houses to our right and the river rolling past us on the left. we had our cameras and the stateline all to ourselves, it felt like somebody had drawn out the night in charcoals just for us.

when you were hungry, you settled for ordering fast food in a spanish accent and we stumbled out the door, breathless with laughter and wondering if anybody existed, really, outside this night of ours.

i kissed you and you never dropped character, but later that night when the food was gone and we were still driving south, away, you said "i don't want to go home yet" and i knew it wasn't on account of me.