We supposed there wasn’t anything to do but pack a night’s worth of clothes and drive North. Just suddenly, on impulse, at six o’clock. I was reckless then, in many ways, and we made it there by ten-thirty.

In nearly ever sense, I was trying to impress her, and when we finally arrived, much too late to do anything, the evening fell apart like anything but romance.

There wasn’t enough time to see the sights and not enough daylight to accommodate our desire. Much sooner than we expected, the trip was over. We left for home, and on that drive began the end of whatever we were.