salman rushdie’s unwritten rulebook for kissing

Had a second date the other night with a person of interest whose conversation is like pingpong except electric, caffeinated, and afterward in the Uber I kissed her, quick and nervous, and fortunately it was reciprocated even though the delivery was so disarmingly abrupt (she told me afterward that the first rule of kissing is to make sure the recipient knows what’s coming) and now, ten or so hours later, I’m up and outta bed, showered, dog’s been cared for and other duties tended and I’m here at the café with my notebook and also a big formidable novel, Midnight’s Children, that I’ve dodged for years but now, by strange chance, happen to’ve borrowed from Lynda probably almost exactly 24 hours before this person of interest told me, on our date, that she loves it, not just for its style and charms but cuz the subject matter (Indian history) rings her bell in a deep way and when I was tryna tell Nancy about the date she said, “So the kiss gave you butterflies,” and I told her no it was more like bats, hundreds of bats, and the drive home afterward was pensive and smooth and the traffic lights were clear and bright and they winked at me as I went.

            I feel caffeinated in a way that has nothing to do with all this coffee.

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