I am holding in my hands a scrap of paper with a seven-digit telephone number on it. But only time can tell whether this moment is the former ... or the latter.
Wait, wait - back up.
Long-time readers of this journal may remember the pretty Eurasian waitress I met a year ago.
It's strange how the people you think you'd never see again surface ... and surface in the oddest of ways.
What are the odds that I'd cross paths again with her ... over a hundred miles northeast from where we first met?
What are the odds that the hand that once bore that engagement ring, is now bare?
What are the odds that she'd recognize me at a crowded restaurant ... and cross the room to greet me?
We chatted only briefly - but god help me, even those brief moments of contact makes me want to see her again.
And as I look at the number scratched on the back of a business card, I wonder: What am I in for if I call her?