The fourth. It doesn't go so well. Things don't really pan out.
Our trip to Lancaster. Our attempt to stop by a friend's. The bottle of champagne we buy.
None of it pans out.
So what do we do instead?
We spend time on the back porch with the myriad odd bugs, smoking cigarettes and wiping years from our faces.
At least the night ends well enough. With a box of cookies and a pint of ice cream. With Honest Teas and intertwined fingers. With both our bodies beneath the comforter.