Maybe the past is like an anchor holding us back. Maybe, you have to let go of who you were to become who you will be. -Carrie Bradshaw

"Allllllllllllll-righty then, lady. Call me sometime."

He buttoned his jacket. It made a comforting crinkle-squeak. She could almost see the leather smell curling up in little waves into the humid night air.

"Maybe. Or maybe I'll wait for you to call me..."

The giant gray sweater exposed one of the girl's shoulders. He followed a tangled curl of hair past her collarbone and noticed the black strap of her bra was too tight. It cut into her shoulder.

"Okay. But it seems like it's always me, girl. Calling you."

He rested his hand lightly on the seat of the bike. She slid her foot out of her shoe, then back in. Out and in, out and in..

"C'mon, it's my way. I'm old-fashioned, or something like that."

Leftover bits of rain drip-dripped off the edges of everything, pretending to be a real, grown-up rainstorm.

"We're way beyond that, baby."

She pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands and raised her eyebrows.

"I'll call, " she said to his exhaust pipe as he rode off.