Flashback to 1993 and a restaurant in downtown Richmond called Bogart’s. She lit a cigarette, still conceivable in the last decade of Bogie’s century, and said we should really talk sometime, really talk, not like this, before falling silent to stare at the movie posters on the walls. “We’ll always have Paris,” I murmured, knowing just enough, and not really even that. This was long before I’d seen Moroccan discotheques at dawn – or even Paris. She squinted through smoke and grinned. There was a crowd, we were drinking pink rabbits, and somebody was waiting in a station wagon to take her home.⠀⠀