The burger joint was crowded and I hated standing while eating really good food. I asked if we could share the booth with them.
I thought they were co-workers and that the curly-haired one, chatting a mile a minute, was driving the mustached-quiet one crazy. I glared at them because obviously they weren't from New York.
Where did the voice "be nice be nice be nice JUST TRY TO BE NICE" come from, but in seconds we knew their names and they knew ours and before I knew it business cards were exchanged because one of them did exactly what I was looking for. And then we found out they weren't co-workers. They were, in fact, planning their wedding.
Years later I get to have dinner and adventures, arguments, and art, wine and whine. I am, however, still not willing to admit to being nice. Even if it gets me great friends.
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