He couldn’t decide how the day had gone. It was a habit of his to dwell on the day’s events in the last few minutes before he fell asleep - even to rate the day, 1-10, if he was feeling frisky. Today, it wasn’t so easy. His mind replayed the events much as he might read in a book or watch in a movie.

***

He was visiting family in Vermont, and stopped at a small restaurant somewhere in Connecticut. He didn’t remember its name – some average restaurant name, unimaginative and easily forgettable.

He liked the place, though - it was clean and non-assuming. He ordered and sat down at a table where he could see the whole place. Unconsciously, even against his will, he began cataloging and stereotyping passers-by: there, an elderly gentleman who obviously never left the 50s – pompadour and all – next to a woman a foot shorter than him; there, a father bringing his contrary children along on a trip for a bit of “quality time,” and fast losing his patience; there, a group of girls giggling about … whatever girls giggled about. He wondered what he’d say if any of them happened to strike up a conversation with him. “So – you’re an Elvis fan, no? I might have children myself someday – wonderful little people. Does this shirt make me look fat?”

He gave up and took another bite of the stuff he had ordered. Typically, he couldn’t remember what it was - some type of chicken - but he had liked the name on the menu. It was something trite, something that made him smile.

Then he saw her. Of course, as he reflected on it, this was his sense of melodrama speaking. He could almost read it in a book: “Then he saw her. The 100% perfect girl.” Laughing at himself, he continued eating.

His Hollywood-trained mind instantly knew her - the quiet, clumsy only in a cute way, smart girl that always starred opposite the latest alpha male star. The kind of girl that young guys idolized and older guys found annoying. The part that struck him, though, was her throat.

Not as if he were a stalker, he added to his mental narrative. It was not like he needed some virgin throat to bite into. That would be funny, in a vampirish way. But it wasn’t part of his story.

It was the curve of her throat, actually, that caught his attention. It was complex in the way that fires or oceans were complex, and commanded hours of study without a hint of boredom - it constantly moved as she swallowed or drank or lifted her head up to scan the area. Each time it moved it would require wholly new theories of beauty and proportion to be laid out in order to understand the curve.

He recovered briefly, imagining how foolish he looked with his mouth half open, half-chewed contents visible to any passing observer - only to forget chewing again as she stood up, looked around her, and walked over to him.

“You wouldn’t happen to have the time, would you?”

Don’t pay attention to the voice, he told himself quickly. Just answer her! He swallowed the food left in his mouth. “Ummm… Yeah. Of course. It’s… ummm….” He tore his eyes away from her – “But her throat!” his subconscious shouted in protest - and pointed his face at the watch.

And promptly forgot how to tell time. He sat staring at the hands in utter incomprehension, trying to figure out exactly what the little black squiggles meant. The one at the top was twelve, right? Was the big hand for the minutes or the hours?

He looked back at her helplessly, and she bent her head to read it for herself. “Dang,” she murmured. “I’m late. Thanks.” And trotted off.

1:03, his mind registered a second later. “It’s one oh three. Thirteen hundred hours, plus three. Blast it!”

***

Of course, the whole rest of his journey had been spent reviewing the scene in his mind, studying the vision of her again and again, trying to comprehend the full meaning of 1:03. He had been travelling nearly an hour before he had realized that he couldn’t even recall her hair color.

He resettled himself into his bed. It wasn’t like every time a girl spoke to him he lost it. Only ones with really curvy throats, right? He laughed at himself again.

So what did the day get? Either a 4 or a 7, he guessed. He couldn’t make the decision. If he had a coin he’d toss it, but the only few he had brought were in his pants across the room and he was too tired to go get them. Of course, the question would continue to bother him all night. “Jeez, you think too much,” he told himself. “Get a life already!”

He settled further into his bed. Maybe it was time to find a job.