It was a stupid argument. I don't remember what it was about and I don't want to know. We flung accusations back and forth like hockey pucks, hard and fast and meant to injure. By the time I was screaming for you to get out, the start of the fight was long forgotten.  You slammed out the door and down the steps so fast you forgot to take your raincoat with you.

It took me less than ten seconds to regret the fight. I ran after you without my coat too. The night was a full moon that occasionally pushed away the storm clouds to release its light. I could see you ahead of me, stomping down the hill as if you wanted to break the sidewalk.

Much as I would have liked to call to you, the wind wouldn't let me. By the second block I knew I wouldn't catch you either. Desperate, I took off my shoe and threw it at you. It didn't hit you, it didn't come close, so why you turned is still a mystery to me.

But you did turn. You saw me hobbling toward you, my blouse soaked thru, nipples showing hard. My skirt sticking to my legs, my hair forming strings of water. I suspect your first thought was, "Woman, are you insane?"

I got within two strides of you before you took action. You devoured those two strides and grabbed me.

Pulling me off the sidewalk, you slammed me against the stucco wall of the Qwest building and pinned me there with your hands planted to either side of me.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You bellowed.

"I'm bringing you the hell home!" I screamed back at you.

You stood there, dumbstruck. I couldn't read the expression on your face, but I never expected you to kiss me.