We looked at each other across half the width of the room, and before I had quite placed her I had smiled and nodded. So did she, and in much the same manner.

I picked up my drink and went to her table. Why not?

I said of course she didn’t remember me, and she said of course she did.

I said I could buy her a drink. I could.

She was blonde as hell, wearing a lot of black.

Pitch perfect dialogue. George Stroud III, in Kenneth Fearing’s The Big Clock.

Notes

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