Gal Müeller

For the purpose of review, go back and read the first half of "Collision", and then stop before you read the second half; you don't want to read that again.

So, apparently I was right. I had a shot, opportunity coincided with desire, and I shared a bed for an evening with the intriguing young Freshman girl from Maggie's party. You know, the 17-year-old social mastermind in demi-punk attire, the one you read about when you clicked back just a paragraph ago. You didn't click back? Tsk-tsk.

Gal Müeller. Subconsciously, I've always had a rule against girls of German descent; it's never really come up before, all two times I've been close enough to one to enforce such rules. This third time around, I see how quick I am to abandon my own internal moral caveats. It's pretty much okay, though, because she's Jewish.

Oh, the joys of a Jewish girl. It's always been a secret wish of mine to get involved with a Jewish girl, though I'm not sure why. Their black hair waves at me, too proud to curl outright. Their rich culture wafts to me like baking bread, whispers of "Challah, Mitzvah, Mazel tov". Pale skins take refuge from the sun over a coffee and a conversation,and Woody Allen drools from the corner.

So it finally happened. You may have noticed that I'm being rather ambiguous with regard to the details, and that's no mistake. I won't say anything about the nature of our relations, not for reasons of discretion (when have I ever shown discretion?) but because I don't want to jinx it.

I'll say that the furniture in my room appreciates their additional utility, as well as the scent of more than my ass and sock-feet. I'll say that Johnny-5 appreciates having a regular passenger to shuttle. I'll say that it's better to leave the window open just a little bit, so there's an excuse to cover and curl up. I'll say that getting less sleep never felt this good.

I'm holding my breath for the statement of terms. One of the remarkable things about it is that, so far, no terms of engagement have officially been stated. Perhaps one could call it a marriage of temporal convenience, but that would undermine the spirit of it. There's a genuine spirit of enjoyment, without the sense of expendability that comes along with one-night stands.

I'll be honest! I wasn't expecting anything more than a one-night stand. I counted myself lucky that I'd had that much, and figured I'd just chalk another name up to the past. But when the phone rang on Sunday.... Sunday, for God's sake! Sunday isn't just a throwaway day that you give to anybody, is it? Sunday is the Lord's day (though some guy with a billboard in Georgia thinks something else), after all.

But what does any of that have to do with me? And how can we explain her return the very next day?

No, I won't say any more about it, lest I tempt fate. It's strange to think that the fates have never been on my side before, or I never thought they were before. This "sunniness" lodged in my disposition is covertly integrating itself into me, becoming less of a nuisance with every passing day. Could Gal's appearance mean that there are some benefits to not being stone solemn all the time?

Gal Müeller... it makes the tongue dance. Just follow your tongue when you say it: the back of the tongue touches the back of the roof of your mouth, then the tension slides from the cheeks to close the lips for just a moment, before the tip of the tongue bounces off the alveolar plate. Gal Müeller.


Enough! Before I go, I'll say that I, like Vladimir, will be staying in St. Louis for Spring Break. There's information that needs collecting, and I may have to kill a few people in thr process. Such is the life of an espion, it seems.

-Alfonzo