Paint the town red.

The La Tomatina after party in Valencia, Spain.

Sometimes you have no intention of seeing someone again. Because you think they have to be too young. Because you think the whole thing is ridiculous. Because, frankly, you still think too much. And when he kisses you goodbye and asks if you want to meet at a party later that night you say “maybe” with no intention of actually making it there.

And so you make other plans. Like to go out with Jaime and Darren, which means you will probably end up going to a gay bar.

But sometimes you go out and over a cheap menu del dia one of them pulls out a flyer for the same party and you mention that the guy said he’d be there. So your friends decide that you have to go.

And so you find yourself on the steps of a museum, buying drink tickets for vodka limons, and roboting to a DJ.

And sometimes you look around for him. And your friends look too, despite no one knowing what he looks like. And you think you might see him a couple of times but aren’t sure because last time you saw him he was dripping wet with tomato.

And so you finally lean over to Jaime and say “I think that’s him.”

Though sometimes you’re still your shy self and so you send your friend over to ask if he’s who you think he is.

And so he comes over.

And sometimes you dance. And kiss.

And sometimes he tells you that he likes your smile. And, sometimes he tells you that he likes your spirit. Which may be the best compliment in the world.

And sometimes you have a few drinks.

And sometimes you forget about your friends and end up on the dance floor. And then in a cab.

And sometimes…