After thirty minutes of driving around, looking for a spot to park, they finally were able to snatch one from someone who was just leaving. They took their matching mugs of chai latte out of the cup holders and set off toward the performance space; she bundled up for winter and he without coat or scarf over his rugby shirt.

“I hope,” he said, “that this is worth all the effort it’s going to take us to get there.”
“I think the liveness of it is important,” she replied, picking her way around piles of discarded icecubes.
“I just sometimes find,” he said, offering his hand for balance, “that watching a movie on my sofa is far superior to watching it in a movie theater if you calculate in the parking, the fees, and the people.”

They were not on their way to a movie, of course. They were on their way to an avant garde, fusion, modern movement demo. It’s a matter of experience and need to expand. Avant garde wasn’t anything that either of them understood. It wasn’t something that was pleasant for them, but she had a tendency to want to do things that were uncomfortable for her. Just to keep herself from ruts.

This was not something that he got into, the idea of saving yourself from ruts. Even though he had laid out spontaneity as an important part of their relationship, he highly valued the regular and predictable. He liked knowing she was never available Sundays, Mondays, or Wednesdays. He liked knowing that she would send him a recipe once a week and they would do dinner and a debate. He liked that if she knew about and could make it to an event he was in, that she would definitely be there.

It’s not that she didn’t have those same thoughts, too. It’s always nice to have a routine, but ritual, remember, is only there so we can recognise the special things. If you never do anything different, then you never have anything that is special.

So they stood among the crowd, hands in pockets, watching the dancers whirl and jerk on the stage to improvised woodwind jazz. Together they enjoyed two segments of the performance and left about an hour into it since they were both tired and cold.

She apologized for dragging him out to something he most certainly didn’t enjoy.

He said he couldn’t give it a fair shake because of his injury, exhuastion, and freezing cold-ness.

She drove him home and he spent the entire time trying to take pictures of her with his phone. They discussed the masive barbeque going on by her place, how she was going to tear up her leather coat, and how his injury was going to affect his tryout regimine.

“Go to bed,” she said, as she pulled in front of his highrise.
“It’s only 9!” he protested.
“It doesn’t matter, you’re exhausted,” she replied firmly. “You’re not going to make any good decisions with the lack of sleep you have.”

He looked at her for a moment, a small smile hanging on his lips.

“Ok. Good night, babe.”
“Good night. And thanks for the chai!”

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