You smiled. I said hello. As reserved as you were, I knew you were equally giddy. Sitting in my Tonka toy in front of that grungy Greyhound station we shared our first kiss. I drove off and secretly hoped we'd end up somewhere. We stared at one another and blushed when we caught the other's glance. We had dinner. It was one of those rare times I wasn't hungry. Later, we walked down quaint suburban streets. We smiled a lot. I was sure we waddled. We were brimming with excitement as intense as any fourth grader's first crush. We practically took up residence in a chic coffeehouse with oversized sofas and gourmet desserts. We drank cappuccino, sipping slowly as if time would keep our pace. At our rate, we wouldn't have to consider going to sleep for another twenty-four hours. Oblivious to the constant movement and incessant chatter around us, we pecked at each other like hungry newborn chicks. We had to have looked foolish: two middle-aged romantics ogling each other in a public place. If we had been teenagers, we might have left and necked in a parked makeshift room on the side of the road.