Plaid and Stripes could be a band name.

There was a strange energy in the café. The air smelled of beer and wine and coffee and I was under 21 but I thought about the tequila in my trunk and if I could spike my tea. I watched a man play his guitar and he was drunk. I could tell because I’d seen him drink more beers than anyone else here and he was sitting beside Ms. Red Wine and she had just filled her glass again.

The boy wearing plaid in front of me was dating the girl in gray. I could tell because he was holding her hand beneath the table. And they matched, because he was wearing plaid and she was just in plain gray.  Beside him was the girl wearing stripes. She kept looking his way. She kept leaning in to whisper. And they would never match, because you don’t put stripes and plaid together. My heart went out to her, because I know what it’s like to be Stripes, wishing you were Gray.

Then the man on stage stopped singing and stopped playing and we all clapped. Next up was Plaid and Stripes. He picked up the guitar and she got behind the mic. He played a sad melody and she sang a lot of “oh’s” and she sounded sad, too. My heart began to hurt for Gray, because maybe she didn’t know that when two people make music together it is nothing short of making love. And maybe she did know, which made me even more sad, possibly. And then Stripe’s heart was hurting, and Gray’s heart was aching and I just kept thinking about the tequila in my trunk.