Miller had been having a crappy week and invited me out to go dancing with him and friends. Just, get out on the dance floor and work out all those frustrations. A moment of thought and I responded that I wasn’t in a partucularly dancy / loud music mood… “more in a quietly making out with a hot-chick kinda mood”

It was a off-the-cuff but still totally true, and as with many of those unchecked statements, held a surprising truth. I can’t remember my last make-out session, and I miss it. Remember in high-school when making out with your boy/girlfriend for half an hour, while your hands darted across forbidden regions? A little fingering, a little fondling… heaven. Of course, some of that was wonderful because of the rush of hormones and the ceaseless desire teen-agers have to mate like hamsters.* But, while I realize it wouldn’t be the same now, I really miss those passionate kisses timed in minutes rather than seconds.

The drawing is of Jess, a friend of a friend, whom I’ve never met. No, I’m not fantasizing about her. She’s just a pretty girl he happened to mention, and I’ve been missing the closeness of them lately.

* hamsters mate at just below the speed of sound.

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