The host told us it would be another fifteen-minutes before a table would be ready. We sat on a bench by the door. I admired the layout of the restaurant; bare wooden tables spanned the distance of the high-ceilinged room. You were waiting on the bench beside us when you were called to your table. I squinted. It was instant. A forgotten celebrity crush. I saw you telling Louis CK to be honest with you; he was fat and you had no tits. Throughout our brunch I occasionally looked over at your table, at one point a breast-feeding woman sidled up to you and engaged in friendly, animated conversation. At another you pulled out a brick of a cell phone, a relic of the 80’s or 800’s, and covered the receiver as you talked. I leaned across the table and asked if it was tacky to approach someone while they ate, already knowing the answer. As I leaned back, nodding my head I looked over and you were gone.