I would wake up looking a total mess, something like Encino Man, unable to find my clothes, languid and gawking at her.

Blonde hair, wavy, put up in a messy bun. Her jeans had a hole in the knee, and she was wearing an oversized camouflage jacket. It was 1997.

She was short. And compact. Like a rock climber or something, and I’m sure she climbed rocks sometimes.