His breath exuded airy alcohol. Eleven weeks and he was fine. But birthdays were difficult. This guy in front of her wasn't even old enough to drink, but he was doing it. And he thought it was cute the way he leaned against the support pillar in the musty basement, which made a nice dance floor. It was refreshing. Quick with words and slow with ears when it was his turn to listen. “Look, Amanda… Amanda, right?” “Right…what?” “How old do you think I am?” know that you are not old enough to drink." He made a gesture as if he were lifting an invisible egg. «Why would you think that? I'm drinking, right?" «Right... you're right. So you're twenty-one, I guess.?." "Is that your guess?" "Yes. Final answer." "Well, wait, before I tell you, I want to know how old you are." "I'm twenty-four." "Okay, wow, so what I have here in front of me is a twenty-four -A four-year-old woman , blonde haired, in a knee-length skirt, drinking a Coca-Cola from a glass bottle. He's an interesting person for an interesting conversation." "What do you mean?" “Well, can I be honest with you, Amanda? Can I tell you the truth?.”“Yes.. let's go. What...?." "You'll be disappointed in me." "Why?" "Because I'm nineteen. I'm drinking illegally. And so I'm a criminal." "Not really." He said, serving two eye rolls. He laughed and sipped his 16-ounce beer. That's a pint. “Well, now that I've told you what I am. It's you... half paper... we'll see!" And there's a number he looks at in his phone belonging to "emoji emoji CHRIST PARTY WHOO". Amanda and Taylor drove home to the silence of a broken radio. And in the silence of a broken radio, anything said shouldn't count. Amanda felt guilty enough already. And despite everything he said, Taylor felt pretty guilty too. And but, in the days to come, whatever memory ends up surfacing in top memory will be placed in a flat, square context box. They will be packaged and stored. And each time the memories resurface, they will be tighter, making room for what is needed. What a shame, too. Things will be forgotten and altered. Nothing can exist separately without reason. The time line does not have to be dotted. The present can never exist as it is. Must always be dressed. What a shame the way we layer it too.