As a crush of people talked about themselves and one another, told truths and lies and secrets, he caught my eye.

Hey, Kendra…

Around him they embellished and repeated their stories in a rush of words scattered by music and beer.

Kendra, can I have a pen? I am going to give you a word, he said.

Music roared and changed and faded as excitement zipped through the crowd. He pushed his pint glass aside and made room to write.

The pen's tip wiggled across a torn napkin and he handed it to me: Guinness.

I'll take it, I said.