it started as a night out for me and my crew back in Summer 1999. That night I wore a irridecent burgandy button up top with some black capris. I was rocking my new micros courtesy of Chantel and looking quite cute I most say. We were amped to hit the Thursday spot which was in a neighboorhood surrounded by a array of south of the border inhabitatants. We often blessed this establisment with our youthly anxiousness. No stranger to the dance floor, surrounded by sweaty and swaying appendages we made it a night to remember. Looking like the rainbow coalition, we hit the hardwood floors ready and willing to gyrate ourselves into early the next morning. In the midst of the heart pumping hip/hop song and the strobe lights, I spot him. He’s looking hard and long and my moves must be sending him into a trance. The yellow Tommy Hilfiger shirt he’s wearing sticks out in the crowd like blonde hair on 12th street. I don’t ignore him because my virgin heart is still in one piece, so I stare back. I see him plotting to his co-workers which I assume they are, since they look like they belong on 6th street instead of at this minority fusion, how he’s going to command my attention.

He got it, don’t remember how, but he tells me his name is Q. He’s different from what I usually go for, him and his shirt are in the same color palette. I’m digging his height though, just enough room for me to lay my head at the base of his collarbone, and his demeanor is pleasing. So how old are you, I ask? I find out I’m 6 years his junior but that doesn’t bother to me, I’m used to dating older men, they often seem to be drawn to me. I couldn’t even buy liquor legally yet , but I had seen and heard plenty to keep me on my toes. We exchanged numbers with promises to talk later, both ignorant and aroused to the fact that this night would deeply change our lives forever. I had unknowingly met my soulmate.