"What was I doing? It was 1924, and I was only handing out flyers in Central Park in June. But she was up to much more, because she had snuck away from her fiancé and all her ladies-in-waiting and her maids--she had only come to the United States specifically to marry this man, some wealthy buisness man, because her family is all wealthy buisness people, and it seemed advantageous, but she snuck away," He smiled, or, as much as he ever smiled, which was really only a brief flicker at the ends of his mouth, mostly obscured by his neatly-groomed facial hair. There was not much he liked to talk about, but lately she consumed all of his free thoughts. And now he was being asked about her, so how could he resist?
The drunken man seemed interested, at least, and had not immediately turned to mocking him the moment he mentioned he had a wife. That was encouraging. And did he not deserve to talk about her?
"And I saw her, because you could not miss her, and I gave her a flyer, which she could not read, and I knew it, but I wanted to speak with her. She had been singing to herself in Arabic, and I had not heard that song since I was young, so I gave her the flyer, and I read it to her, since she could not see the words, and I told her to come and hear the calliope..." He sighed. He had been unconsciously fiddling with the ring he wore around his neck, and he seemed quite different, all of a sudden. He had almost forgotten who he was speaking to, and when he remembered, he straightened up, and said, "That was what I was doing, when I met her."