Our first date lasted seven hours because neither of us wanted to say goodbye.

We kept ordering one more thing and walking one more block. The restaurant staff eventually started stacking chairs around us.

I joined a video meeting from my parked car to look busy.

The meeting ended early, but I stayed there for another twenty minutes enjoying the silence.

My neighbour and I communicate entirely through porch lights.

One blink means a package arrived. Two means deer are eating the flowers. Three means someone parked badly again.

The best rainy-day seat in town is in a public building.

It has a huge window, almost nobody uses it and I am not revealing more until retirement.

I once attended the wrong lecture for forty minutes.

I took detailed notes and only realized when everyone started discussing an assignment I had never heard of.

My dad keeps pretending he does not understand emojis.

He absolutely understands them. He uses the confusion to avoid answering questions he dislikes.

I wave back even when I know the person is waving at someone behind me.

At this point it is easier to commit than acknowledge the mistake.

Umbrellas should require a downtown licence.

Some people operate them like they have no spatial awareness and unlimited liability insurance.

I got on the wrong bus and stayed because I was embarrassed.

I ended up seeing a neighbourhood I had never visited and found a bakery I now go to every week.

To the stranger who shared your umbrella outside the library.

You walked three blocks out of your way so I would not get soaked. I hope something unexpectedly kind happens to you too.