I was walking home that night, paying little attention to my surroundings, when a woman – slight, fashionably dressed, dark eyes – approached me.

“Are you K?”

I said that I was, trying to ignore the incredulity of the moment. It was dark, but I knew her voice.

She looked at me, then punched me in the face, sending me backward. Her punch had knocked her off balance, so the force of the blow was relatively tame. Still, my right eye began to swell.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” she shouted.

Too stunned to reply, I grimaced at her. She took a knife from her back pocket. “And give me your fucking watch.”

I did. Then she flipped me off before tottering off into the shadows.

In a daze, I tripped and had to limp home in the dark.

I woke the next morning on the couch, and you were sitting next to me.  “Sorry,” you said with resignation, handing me my watch. “I’ve always kind of liked it, I guess. We met the day you bought it.”

You were leaving for work.

“At least you didn’t try to run me over this time,” I said, watching the front door close.