it was supposed to be dinner

It was supposed to be dinner. It became breakfast at the place on the corner, then the flea market where she bargained in Portuguese for a mirror neither of us could carry, then the afternoon it rained so hard we gave up on the day and didn't mind. My phone died on the Saturday and I have never missed it less.

On the Sunday night I finally went home to water my plants and stood in my own flat like a tourist. The mirror hangs in our hall now. She still will not tell me what she paid for it.