I was accepting the cover at a bar on the corner of Powell Street and Victoria Drive. You were a shy, dark eyed brunette. You said something to me, but over the loud music all I could understand was "... but that's no fault of your own." Our eyes met, my mind went blank, and all I could do was smile as I accepted your money. We made eye contact a few more times that night, but I never built up the courage to talk to you.