A companionable silence settles between us as we nurse our drinks, watching the world go by. But the more margaritas we down, the more that silence morphs into a tipsy, friendly sort of companionship. At the very least we partake in some mutual rubbernecking, tossing the odd comment each other’s way as we take turns pointing out the night’s mayhem—a couple arguing, a child toppling off a seat they were climbing, a man staggering out of the restaurant with bloodshot eyes.
