She ordered a burger. I ordered a burger. She asked if she should take Plan B. I still have time, she said. About six hours. It’s fine, I said. I was trying to remember that night. I was pretty sure. The table next to us was looking over. Okay, she said. I won’t take it. After dinner we went to a bar and drank scotch. She told me about her family in Nicaragua. Her brother was a philosopher. Never give money to a philosopher, she said. You’ll never see it again. She had four older sisters. They were all married with children. One sister came to visit. If you got married, the sister said to her, you’d be a lot happier. Her father owned a farm in Nicaragua. Her mother was upset she didn’t go to mass anymore. When she was twelve she went to confession and the priest touched her breasts. She didn’t tell anyone. No one liked that priest, she said. No one. You still go to mass? she said. Yes, I said. That’s why we have to be sure. Okay, I said. I’m sure. I’m going to quit my job, she said. I’m going to organize an indie music festival in Nicaragua. All my favorite bands will be there. It will be the first indie music festival in Nicaragua. We drank more. Are you sure it’s okay? she said. I was looking at my watch. It was too late. Don’t worry, I said. We took a cab to her place. We drank more. She was naked and smoking out her bedroom window. A homeless man was sitting on a bench in the park across the street. She waved at him and laughed. He waved back. It was three am. It started snowing. She climbed out the window and ran into the street. She was laughing as the snow came down. You’re fucking crazy, I said. Are you sure it’s okay? she said.