It’s Nice To Meet You

This neighborhood is all dark corners. The low lighting in this bar suddenly adds an illicit sheen to an otherwise regulation Tuesday. You walk in—or at least I think you walk in—it’s difficult to make out. Dark bars are the absolute worst and best for making out.

You’re closer now. The light from the candle touches your face. A spark reflects in your eyes—the kind of thing one can only really see in a dark bar. You smile. I smile. It’s nice to meet you.

It’s nice to meet you in dark bars and on bright streets. It’s nice to meet you for a quick drink or a long talk. It’s nice to meet you in the middle—because that’s where we are anyway.

It’s nice to meet you for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. It’s nice to meet you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It’s nice to meet you for dessert. It’s nice to meet you on different sides of the river, different sides on the island, and different sides of the bed.

It’s nice to meet you without warning. It’s nice to meet you at exactly 8pm underneath the golden street clock on Fifth. Or, you know, whenever, to wind down the avenue like the gears inside of the golden street clock on Fifth.

It’s nice to meet you outside. It’s nice to meet you in dreams. It’s nice to meet you before the show. It’s nice to meet you after thinking all day about how nice it would be to meet you.

It’s nice to meet you on your doorstep. It’s nice to meet you in my hallway. It’s nice to meet you right now. It’s nice to meet you and catch a glimpse of something in your eyes.

The National Fire Prevention Association’s glossary of terms contains sixty-nine instances of the word “spark.” The 2014 edition defines it as “a moving particle of solid material that emits radiant energy due to either its temperature, or the process of combustion on its surface.” No natural habitat is listed. But I think they should check dark bars.