Feeling: Resigned
Listening to: humming "Mr. Cellophane" from Chicago
Reading/Watching: Rimbaud, per Richard's advice

Driving down Bandera at 12:30 in the morning, having seen Just Married (I swear to God, someone wrote Brittany Murphy's character after Bri) and still talking about relationships, she and I bounced over the hill and I heard her coo and smile.

"Look, my sign is blinking!" She pointed to the little auto body shop sign off to the right, a picture of a red car that lit up and dimmed rhythmically. It was her happy sign.

Mine was just at the bottom of the hill, on the left: it spelled out Culpeppers in blue neon, and it looked sleek and jazzy, even if it was for a dry-cleaner's.

We passed her sign, and mine came into view. She was still talking. "Maybe it means things will work out with Biker Boy after all, since my sign is blinking."

I glanced to the left. Flatly: "Mine's not."

She burst out laughing. Such a helpful girl.

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