She walked into the cafe cold and wet. Her hair was drenched despite her efforts to keep it dry with the most recent edition of FADER magazine... She was fucking cool... I always loved the fact that we were able to talk about music, and all music too. She wasn't limited to any one type of music. To look at her, you would have thought that without question, all she listened to was techno/house crap. She had chestnut colored hair and dark eyes. She was short, 5' at best, but she carried herself like an amazon. She was scrappy and gregarious but with a tender side that was unrivaled. I sat alone at the table in the cafe with my elbows on my knees, and my face 3 or 4" from the travel section of the new york times. I knew that she had entered, but I didn't lift my eyes from my reading. she saw me from across the room and made her way over and sat down. I looked up and said hi. "hi" she said smiling sweetly. I sat back in the chair and looked her up and down. "raining?" I asked. "yes baby, it's raining." was all she said. I pulled a box of cigarettes from my pocket and slid on out. I hesitated a second before I put it between my lips and lit it. "When did you start smoking again?" she asked? "when I decided that it wasn't worth it to deprive myself of things that I like."