Dreams, Goals, Shot Glasses and Shakespeare

She spun the glass in small circles. Amber fluid, amber table, amber lighting. He lifts his glass to his lips; less to drink than to think. Sets it down. His heavy mug, her petite shot-glass. He leans in. The band plays the bridge.

“Do you dream?” he asked. 

  

“Not much I remember. Mostly black and white.”

“Daydream?  If we weren’t here…Where’d you want to be? If you could be…”

Her turn to drink. “You gonna eat those fries, mister?” Eating the fry like a professor using a smoking pipe. “Don’t know. Travel, teach….” Shoulder shrug. “The business, the bills…You? Why?”

“It’s just; there’s gotta be more! The poets and the Instagram people; Acuff, Goff. Different leages? Different card hands?” Speaking of hands; raises his, flags down the waitress. Downs his drink.

“Before this,” she takes a long swallow. “Before this I thought I’d save the world. Make a dent. But it’s hardly a dent. Maybe a ping; if that’s a thing.”

“I think it’s Shakespeare, “The pings a thing to catch a king.” She rolls her eyes. “So if God’s as big as we say; what if?  Is this it?  Should there be an ‘after this?’ Or a ‘during this?’ If so; then what?”

“So does more...?,” her voice trails off. “What does more look like? Is it inside us?  Outside?” She stretches her legs out straight, leans back into the chair. A horn honks in the street. The band plays a new set; saxophone heavy.

“Maybe we’re to constrained; to adult, to serious,” she says. “What if we stretched…? He raises his eyebrows. “Stretched one thing, risked one thing towards dreaming this week?  Worst case…more hop in our step. So? What’s your goal?”

“Stay alive. Then; I don’t know.  Is praying a step?”

“I think so,” she said.  “As long as you’re moving.  Standing still’s not a step.  Unless you’re listening---then it's a step.”

“Praying’s my step then.  Yours?”

“I’m going to research world-changing agencies!  I’ll share Tuesday!”

“Til Tuesday then,” he says stepping outside with a small hop in his step.