Sarah is 26 and lives in Southie. She's taken six months off from her job at the publishing house to focus her energies on the novel that's been on her mind for several years. She's pretty sarcastic and doesn't tolerate rude behavior, but is definitely one of the sweetest cynics anyone would have the opportunity to meet.

I knew the little white lie wouldn't hurt - and it made me feel better about the conversation. B had invited himself over to my table while M was off trying to thaw her frozen T-shirt, and he was just staggering and leery enough to amuse me, but also make me slightly uncomfortable. Mental pleas for any gallant gents in the room to come save me had gone unheeded - so I had to take care of things myself.

He had been telling me (and M, when she returned) about his second ex-wife and how she had left him. He discussed the poetry he had written but was too self-conscious to tell anyone about. Anyone other than us, apparently. He realized partway through his next rambling story that he had no idea of who he was talking to.

"What's your name, anyway?" he said, peering at us with alcohol-hazed vision.

"I'm M."

"And you?"

"Sarah. Nice to meet you."

"Sarah. Sarah and M."

Sarah was actually born - er, created - during the district days. She hung out on the edges of every situation, available if safety called for her. (For the record, yes, it did call for her from time to time for whatever woman needed her.) I had pulled the Sarah card only two or three times since moving back. Sure, it wasn't necessarily a safety issue this time - B wasn't capable of anything even if he were to try - but I felt the need to dust her off.

"What was your drink?"

"Vodka cran."

"What's it taste like?"

"Well, B," I began, keeping a completely serious face. "If you took the taste of vodka and you took the taste of cranberry juice and mixed them together, that's what you'd get."

Sarah could be a bitch at times. But B wouldn't remember.

He looked over at M. "Your friend here's pretty smart. I can tell."

I gave a smile, swirled my straw and looked over my shoulder. Knights in shining armor...any time now..."Aw, thanks, B. That's nice of you to say."

After a few more minutes of chitchat - and the debut of his poem - B said he was going to drive home. We talked him down to walking home and he rose to say goodnight.

"It was good to meet you two," he said, slightly unsteady. "Sarah. M. Hope to see you around here soon. Have a good night."

"G'night, B," we said in chorus. He gave one more crooked smile and walked out.

I waited to take a sip of my drink, raise an eyebrow to the bemused smile across the table and spin my straw again. Then we burst into the chuckles that had been building up through the whole conversation.

See? I'd helped B out. Sarah was able to keep a straight face during a random encounter. V would have been laughing through the whole damn thing.
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I relaxed yesterday afternoon. I spent a chunk of several hours in the Public Garden, laying in the shade of a tree with my camera, notebook and copy of "A Long Way Down."* The sun squinted through the branches above me and church chimes blended with the sound of rustling leaves and construction a block away.

It was the nicest several hours I've spent in a good long while - and I finally felt I was actually on vacation.
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D made sure to say hello, and I learned that an bandmate's illness had forced them to cancel the headlining gig M and I had traveled to see. Ah, well, have to see them soon. I still wound up able to enjoy a pretty decent mango margarita, hear "Daffodils" live for the first time since that first show and cheer the Sox when they broke through the tie score in the bottom of the ninth.

But, man. Perhaps I should have remained in Sarah mode a bit longer, so as to not have cared at the end of the evening.

*Finished it later that afternoon. I recommend. Brilliant. LOVE NICK HORNBY.