We planned to meet again at some point in the deep future. But not just now. I wrote down the time and day and place in plain blue ink on a piece of paper napkin.

As I danced home that night the sky began to rain. All the way from up there to down here. The drops soaked through my hat and coat and shoes and trousers and almost through my skin to my heart and liver and lungs and skeleton, and nearly all the way to my brain, where it might have soaked through all my memories and made all my interesting facts soggy and damp. That wouldn’t have been good. Fortunately I got home just in time. “Phew.” I exhaled, as I shuffled into my house. I took off my clothes and ran a hot bath, and reached for the note I had written, to pin it to my noticeboard so I wouldn’t forget. Thursday, 8pm, under South Bridge near the popcorn stand. But the date had washed away. I couldn’t even remember the year, let alone the month or day. We’d had a lot of caipirinhas. I had no idea which Thursday we agreed on. So I guess, to be safe, I’ll have to try them all.