Opera Night | Aleathia Drehmer We arrive at the opera house late, great gilded doors closed until intermission. Suffering dirty looks from dapper dressed ushers. We stand in the hall watching opera on TV. I feel embarrassed by our poor opera etiquette. I look at you, you at me, and a giggle rises from you, smile flashing like fire. Your arm loops mine. as we saunter through the doors queens of the city into the cool evening; Air open, glorious and fresh on our faces. we sit in the cab of dad's rusty pickup, windows rolled all the way down, drinking cheap wine exchanging kisses on the lip of the bottle in opera dresses.

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