she hailed from california.  she had the same name as the girl that kiedis was crazy about.  i'm always particular about the names of people i meet.  it's just one of those things.  "what's in a name?" people ask.  everything, my friend, everything is in a name.

so i asked for her last name.  she laughed and demurred.  then thoughtfully added, "california.  i think it's appropriate."

"just like the title of that chili peppers' song," i said.  she laughed again.  i wondered if she was indeed a lover baby and a fighter.  i guess i'd never see it coming until it got a little brighter.

we met up in the darkness of a bar in the meatpacking district.  dark venues are the scourges of propriety; for darkness is the environment in which the scandalous and salacious thrive.  as a place to meet someone i had a vague impression of what they looked like, it presents a logistical impossibility. 

my eyes adjusted to the darkness as i made a round trying to scout out this self-described "group of asian girls".  the attempt was unsuccessful despite scouting several possibilities.  so i sent a baiting text message to narrow the selection.

receiving my text, she got up to meet me and i made my approach. 

she looked slightly different from her pictures, yet cute with her hair cut in a bob.  she had spunk.  i liked that.  and freckles.  tiny freckles gingerly dusted across her face like mocha sprinkles on caramel cupcakes.  i gave her a hug upon meeting.  it was uncharacteristic of me, but it felt like the natural thing to do.

i introduced myself to her friends and found out that we had intersections within our social venn diagrams – another affirmation of the small-world network theorem. 

she accompanied me to the bar so i could grab a drink.  i ordered a macallan as we ran through the usual gamut of "getting to know you" questions.  i was humored.

we reconvened with her group and headed to other venues around the area.  after unsuccessfully finding a home to park our dancing shoes in for our night out on the town, we continued our search up in chelsea.  we settled upon Home.

a playful dalliance grew increasingly with the inhibitions we lost in the elixirs served by the resident mixologists.  shot after shot, drink after drink, restraint gradually sublimated into the ambiance of our surroundings.  the pulsing crowd imbibed to lose all purposeful rationality as fast as they could lose themselves in the moment.  fighting broke out.  lovers made out.  it was easy to be caught in the moment. 

we were caught in a moment.  it was easy to become lost.  but moments are to be lived in, not thought over.

as the night wore on, the girls wore out.  so consensus was made to call it a night that thursday.  the misfortunate, including myself, had to work in the morning.  but the night's festivities worked up an appetite and she wanted to grab a bite to eat.

i obliged. 

we headed to west 32nd for some wholesome seoul food as a twilight snack.  i can't recall what we spoke about, but the inebriated banter felt as satiating as our meal. after settling our bill, we got her shoes back on her feet and headed out.

i stepped out into the quiet chill of the night and bundled up.  she took my hand again.  i asked if she wanted to take a cab.  she wanted to walk.  so i put our hands into my jacket pocket to conserve warmth, and together we set off beneath the towering gaze of weary buildings draped in blue-grey desolation.

the streets of new york are loneliest during the weekday twilight.  the alcoholic revelers have turned in and a haunting quiet innundates the city in the way it is known by the street cleaners, the nightwatchers, the graveshift workers, the denizens of the night.  these are the hours in which final chapters are written.  in isolation, they can be unusually cold and brutally harsh.  but we had the company of the playful banter between our voices.

"gentlemen should always walk on the outside," she explained as she pontificated on the finer points of fundamental street chivalry.  i laughed, but obliged anyway.  the lady is always right.  usually.

she didn't know that i always used to walk on the outside.  but when i found myself circling around those i escorted, the practice seemed as outmoded as throwing one's jacket over puddles.  it makes sense when you walk down a street for long stretches.  but in the city, when you're zig-zagging from block to block, it becomes a tad gauche.  throw in a slung handbag and, at times, an umbrella, and you've got yourself a chivalrous logistical debacle.  so, i've always opted for being smooth.

if i had a choice between being smooth or chivalrous, i'd choose being smooth time after time.  being smooth encompasses chivalry.  chivalry takes added effort, but smoothness comes naturally.  smoothness is a way of life.  it is imbued by a proper upbringing, a level of class and civility, and years of beatings over the head with unabridged volumes on etiquette.  it's doing things the right way because that's the only way you know. 

she began shivering.  i asked her if she wanted to take a cab.  she maintained her disposition as a pedestrian, so i slung my jacket and my arm around her to conserve warmth.  we continued to walk.

"you don't need to impress me," i said.  she said she liked to walk.

i like to walk too, but i'm also wearing comfortable shoes.  i knew her feet had to be killing her.  yet, she was adamant.  and i was willing to take her as far as she was willing to go.

and so we continued to walk, accompanied only by the pitter-pattering echos of our footsteps down the long granite canyons, lingering until dawn.