Sighting

You: Dan. Possibly Irish. 36-ish. A gentle silver-bearded wolf.
We saw each other once, twice, before you asked, “Want to get up there?”
I nodded. You took me by the arm and we flew through the crowd.
We danced, held each other, and at goodbye I asked for your number. You wanted to leave it at the fleeting moment, just for us.
Ah yes, the fleeting moment. “Live the questions.”
I followed you out a minute later, but several thousand people had other plans. I won’t chase you through another crowd. I’ll leave this here instead.

A pint and the rest of the story