The Work of a Moment

If you pointed a gun at the back of my head and asked me what movie we watched, I wouldn't have been able to tell you.

We were all hanging out. Then everyone else had stuff to do.

I still went to the movie.

So did he.

I bought popcorn. He bought drinks.

We sat together. Why not? We were hanging out.

The movie started. Someone got blown up—typical summer blockbuster crap.

I don't know when it happened, but one of us moved.

We were both wearing shorts. Our bare legs touched.

Nobody moved again for the whole movie.