A Nice Way To Spend A Saturday Night by Mike Meraz

A girl calls me up, who I met last weekend, telling me she is at a payphone on the corner
of Atlantic and Washington. She says, "you said to call you this weekend." I think to
myself, "what did I do?" Trying to be sensitive, I ask her, "can you call me later? I’m
doing something right now." She says, "I'll call you when I get to my sisters house."

It was a lonely Saturday night. I was at a 7-Eleven buying beer and a hot dog when I
noticed a girl staring at me. She was kinda cute. Latin. Big breasts. You know. I smiled.
She smiled back. It was all harmless. On our way out we crossed paths and I motioned
her over. She said she just got back from a friends house and that she was so depressed
she wanted to buy some cookie dough. I said, "what's the problem?" She said, "oh
nothing." I asked her if she wanted to go somewhere and talk about it and have coffee.
She said, "it's too late for coffee." I said, "how about some milk?" She laughed and said,
"okay." We drove over to the donut shop across the street and had some milk. We sat for
hours. Talked about our families, what kind of music we liked, etc. We actually held
hands at one point. It was nice. But I think I made a mistake. She is not as shallow as I
am. To her holding hands and talking intimately means the start of something special. To
me it means holding hands, the softness of skin, a nice way to spend a Saturday night.