he'd write down the names of all the overpriced dinner clubs; pretend that he was interested in cigars and the train in his glass. she'd drink too many lemon-drop martinis and wear cheap party dresses. he'd carry her to the car. and we'll run to get out of the rain. you can pretend that you're happy. i'll pretend that i am, too. except, i really will be. maybe i'll even believe you for a second; dwell on it for years. it'll be every song stuck in my head. it'll be every reflection on wet pavement. i'll stitch winter thundershowers into every heavy silence. you'll forget it ever happened - but you won't forget the names of the dinner clubs. floor the pedal. you're all much too level headed.