Adam put his hand on her shoulder, and rubbed it a bit, then withdrew it. "I know the feeling."

"I'd hope you don't, actually. The day I found out about this place by some random black guy in the archetypical government suit, I was thrilled. My fiancé and I had just split up the day before… And, well, the idea of getting away from everything was so perfect. It was like a sign. Or something," she let out a seemingly bitter laugh.

"The whole situation seemed that way for a lot of people," Adam said. It was true, too, even if it wasn't a sentiment he shared.

"Maybe," she said. She said it in such a way that Adam felt that she was thinking about whether or not to say what she wanted to. She started to speak a moment later, but apparently thought better of it.

"What's up?" Adam prodded.

"I'm still not sure that I even feel bad about what happened, Adam," she said quietly; looking up to him as they still stood facing each other where she had stopped walking earlier. "And I'm scared about what that means."

I remember that I had just finished up the last final exam, thus signaling the end of my junior year of college. And, to celebrate, some friends and I went to a bar to, big surprise, get drunk. By the third drink, my four housemates had all found companions. Feeling bored, but not ready to call it a night, I went and sat by a bar. I ended up talking to a girl that sat next to me. She was, if I remember, a waitress. At Hooters. She was very pretty and incredibly nice, if not lacking a bit in… Well. She was nice.

Somehow, I got talking about Mice and Men. Not even sure why anymore, but it came up. I went on a lengthy little discourse about something or other. After I was done, the girl said that she was so sad when the little boy’s pet mouse was eaten by the neighbor’s Golden Retriever. I was speechless. I don’t even think I responded. She said she had to go to the bathroom, asked me if I’d “be a dear” and get her a drink for when she got back.

I was trying to flag down the bartender, when I heard a soft, sweet voice from my left say, and I remember it exactly, “You got a real winner there, buddy.”

And I turned to see who it was. What I saw was a thin girl dressed, fairly elegantly for a bar, in a long, thin satin navy blue dress. The thin straps drew attention to her soft white shoulders. Her small hands took hold of a shot sitting in front of her at the bar, and she drank it, and slammed it—softly, somehow—on the bar counter. I asked this girl, who didn’t appear to have looked at me yet, “What?”

She turned her head to me, and smiled the kindest smile that I’d seen outside of a movie. Her eyes, which seemed almost an indigo color, looked straight into mine. “It’s your own choice if you decide on breasts over brains tonight.”