It's cloudy and our Americano sits smoking beside us. We're in Geneva, mulling over life in the window of Graham's, a coffee shop on 3rd Street with free Wi-Fi and calm baristas. Oh, to be 20-something and oh so self-involved. Jude is en route to a shower of more than one kind. A little rain, a little bridal talk, a lot of smiling and nodding.
We woke up then fell asleep then woke up much too late. Gotta go, gotta go. Too much too fast and panic showed in the furrow of our faces, in the frizz of our hair. Why do we let it get to us? We blame ourselves then take it out on the closest thing. But now we're here, frighteningly early, waiting for a bridal shower filled with strangers in a new dress that gives us goose bumps down to our ankles from the draft beneath the skirt.