Begin with an early dinner at Bread Bar. Order the vampire slayer pizza and ask for their extraordinarily addictive hot sauce. Take the fresh flower in the little vase at the centre of the table and put it in your hair. Talk about Batman, how much you hate the casino, the new My Bloody Valentine album, and the little things that make you feel nostalgic.
Walk down Locke Street and try to put together the Concrete Poem, where each line is on little plaques in the pavement. Remember ANDY’s favourite line and quote it when you propose a few years later – “Where do I come from/ Where am I now/ Where am I going/ A map/ of my thoughts/ move fast/ like horses around a track.” Look in the window at Fenian Films and write a silly plot for a short film together. Discuss favourite books when you walk by Epic Books. But then admit how little you really read. Regret not buying flowers first from La Jardinere when you walk by it, but find out ANDY’s birth flower (yeah, that’s a thing) for next time.
Take the bus to Hammer City Records. Walk around, take a profile shot of ANDY looking through records and get a little black and white print out for your boring desk job when you’re older and these silly, lovely days are long gone. Talk to random, cool, interesting, friendly people. Buy an ‘80s punk band’s B-side record. Listen to it late into the night together. Enjoy it only vaguely but feel deeply moved by the moment, and see right through ANDY’s feigned, but still somehow very charming, interest.
Head to The Brain for a cozy drink. Talk about life goals, your greatest fears, crummy artists you secretly love, how badly you want to feel each other up and how much you’re falling for each other.
Take ANDY home and put on “Thinkin’ about You” by Frank Ocean and stay up all night and discover weird things you have in common, but also find out that there are many things that you hate that ANDY loves. Start making out and eventually fall asleep in each other’s arms. Wake up wanting to say “I love you,” but decide to hold back for a few months. Feel like a cliché.
By: Bahar Orang