We overestimated, by a long shot, the time it would take us to get there. The reward for our inaccuracy was a considerable wait in a bucolic setting.
He was a reluctant wedding guest, escort, date.
We found a strategic spot to watch other early comers filter in who, one by one, tipped a toe into the grotto where we sat and attempted their own unsuccessful forays to find a glass of wine, a Sprite, some water or a seat on which to bide their time.
We made small talk. He consulted his smart phone for distraction.
My remembrance, this painting.
