I met you in a bar over a year ago. It was a great night. A poem came out of it. You spontaneously came on stage and sang a song. Your dancing was pretty sexy. We then went to another bar, and danced the night away to jukebox songs. We really danced like no one was watching. I commented on your booty as you previously commented on someone else's booty, you said thanks. I didn't let on that I yearned to make my feelings known to you, or would've asked to exchange numbers. But my friend was with us. All he did was talk about himself, his same boring stories, that are probably word for word, line for line. He monopolized the conversation, and I don't like talking about myself so gloriously as he did or interrupting or talking over my friend. I guess this was a cock block as they say. Nonetheless, we left, my friend drove, you came along. My friend insisted on taking me home first, then you after, although geographically, that made no sense, and I agreed, and told him to just let you out. You got mildly agitated at him. He insisted and insisted, and in his tone, a fatherly one, kept insisting on taking me home first. I heard it, and it turned me off. We were stuck at a light, and you got it. I said bye or something. that was that, as is said. Fuck you to my friend. I still remember that night, and think about the what if, knowing the chances of crossing paths are very, very, very slim. Meanwhile your face is fading away, but your memory is forever.