Randy Runk met a girl at Crow Bar, a place he’d discovered while looking half-heartedly for things to make his life better. Bar trivia was an easy entry point into the social scene even though he would never touch the devil’s juice. So their first conversation went like this:

“Hey.”

The second conversation, the following weekend, had more content and gave some confidence to Randy Runk!

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Yeah trivia, huh? I like it.”

Afterwards he replayed that interaction endlessly at home and felt terrible and useless and wanted TO DIE.

The third conversation really got things going because it took place in Randy’s car. WHOA. His car was a mess. Just a mess, man, clean your car out. He suddenly became intensely aware of the receipt from his oil change that was still sitting on the floor there at her feet. He couldn't even change his own oil and now she knew that.

She'd had a little too much beer so he offered to take her home. His heart was pounding and that prevented him from being a totally cool dude. All kinds of ways this could go. Right ways. Wrong ways. All kinds of ways. His brain spontaneously mapped every possible scenario and then promptly delivered a nuclear blast of anxiety into his face. She was a pretty girl; she probably looked nice even while crying. He could smell her hair, which reminded him of the best thing ever. He'd never done drugs because drugs were for losers but he imagined this was what meth was like. Or coke or weed or caffeine. He didn't know. Any drug. He shut down these curious thoughts with the swiftness of a samurai sword.

Anyway, her eyes were closed as she rested against Randy's passenger seat. He could see down her blouse but would not look. He was a gentleman.

"Cool, okay yeah, happy to help you out, taking you home?" He voiced it as a question which just sucked the life out of him.

"Mm."

Rough start but he would keep it going. By instinct Randy squeezed the steering wheel like an innocent prisoner in order to bleed out the insane thoughts that were interfering with his capacity for human conversation. "Do you live far?" A sudden fantasy of carrying her up to her bedroom spidered through his mind and he struggled to suppress it.

"Mm.. yeah. No just up the, ahead there down the street. Um on Victoriamenmnmn and I'll tell you where."

"Okay sure! Yes."
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Some horrific silence has entered the scene in an effort to ruin Randy's life. "So where, uh, yeah where are you from?"

She didn't answer and instead kept her eyes closed. Awkwardness loomed large and blocked out every other conceivable feeling, the only thing awkwardness was good for. This was the worst. He'd rather insert human bones into his eyes. Is there a certain way to talk to women? Maybe she was regretting her decision to accept his ride and was just pretending to be drunk so she didn't have to talk to him. He thought about their wedding day. She would be more receptive to him then. Especially when she found out she was pregnant.

Her phone lit up with a text message. Who was that? Her boyfriend? "Do you have a boghhhcahahhaaaaghhhh—" Randy cut himself off with an ugly obvious cough that did no favors to anyone a hundred miles within the blast radius of the bomb he was dropping in his own car. God dammit. Yeah but did she have a boyfriend? He would like to know that if he was going to pursue anything with this girl. In a way it didn't matter because she was in HIS car. And anyway she probably didn't because what kind of girlfriend regularly goes out to bars alone? Stupid idiot, he chastised himself with a twisted pleasure. His pulse continued at a steady pace of total insanity. The last time he'd had a girl in his car was never, so he had to make the most of it. Hopefully they would make out before she left. Or she'd kiss him and slip her number into his hand. Then he would go home and plan their next date.

He banged through a pothole which probably destroyed his suspension or whatever just loudly broke.

She did not answer her phone, or even look at it. Okay good. Cool. Her eyes were still closed. “So what’s your deal man, why were you hanging around me.”

“Just outta out outta out out on on on the town trying to meet people," he answered as though firing an artillery cannon but with less god damn personality. But finally a real conversation. And he could even use one of his pre-planned responses! He'd worked a few out. It was good to have some of those on hand. That's how you become witty.

She snorted in derision. "Meeting people, okay."

Why would she make fun of that? He had no reply because his brain was busy rebooting again.

Finally he decided to make the move of moves. “I'm Randy.”

“I live here.”

"Ok." Randy pulled to the curb. “What's your n— ok, here?”

“Sure, yeah, whatever.” She yawned and took her seatbelt off, grabbed her coat from the floor of the car and didn't look at him. “Thanks for the ride, Harry.” She got out and left the door open.

Randy sat there in silence, unmoving for a moment. Then he reached over and pulled the passenger door closed. He glimpsed her walking unsteadily down the sidewalk in the uncaring orange street lights, passing without a glance the apartment complex she told him she lived in. He started crying and drove off.