Standing alone at the bar, I wondered if I could love the boy I noticed at the end of it—the one with the curly brown hair, who was like a washed-out, more neutral version of the first boy I loved. When he stepped out onto the front steps, I thought, If he has gone out there to smoke, I will love him. But when I got outside, though I could see a cigarette dangling from his lips, I did not love him.
