A Bit of Part Two of Chapter Four

It wasn't long before they arrived at Poncho's. Jen was a little surprised that Dorf knew where the place was, but only a little. Dorf had the weird ability to just kind of know everything.
Dorf pulled the Mustang up at a large and delapidated looking shack that was lit up all over with "old school" Christmas tree lights. Large, primary colored bulbs blazed and illuminated the place like a beacon. There was a porch, and they were strung across the railing. They framed the windows. They framed the large sign above the door that read "Poncho's Fine Mexican Food" in red and green letters. It was July.
Poncho's was packed. People spilled out onto the porch, and into the front lawn, walk way, and parking lot. They looked like college students for the most part, in standard "grunge" dress; lots of cordurory, lots of flannel, band t-shirts, and unwashed hair. Badly tuned guitars mingled with voices and laughter.
Jen led the way, with Dorf a couple of steps behind her. It was about 9:30, and Mike's band wasn't scheduled until ten. She seriously hoped that they hadn't gone early. The band playing now, if it could even be called such, was truly and remarkably bad, and she very much wanted to like Mike's music.
She stopped right before she had reached the porch and looked back at Dorf. He was wincing. He shook his head.
"Dorf, I'm pretty sure this isn't him. He--" She was cut off.
"Jen! Hey, you made it!"
She turned back to the porch and saw him. He was beautiful. She would never forget how he looked right then and there in a plain, white t-shird, tuxedo jacket, and easy, uncomplicated blue jeans. His hair was loose, hanging well past his shoulders, long straight, and perfectly smooth like a single sheet of silk . . . Just like the song . . . "Just Like Heaven."
Dorf poked her in the back. "Go."
She went.

Okay, folks, you can puke now if you want to, and I have to warn you, it's only gonna get worse. Hopefully, though, you'll find some humor in here as well . . . And, well, the gushy, romantic bits can't be all that bad. Don't we all secretly like silly love songs? Anyway . . . That's all for now . . . More again soon. How Soon is Now? ASK Morrissey.

Love,
Amy