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