Muse

Corinna and I revisited where we met. Almost a year ago, though it sometimes seems I've known her my whole life.

We met about a block north of a statue called The Muse of the Missouri.

Of course, it didn't take more than a minute for her to push the boundaries of what is permissible even if you're inspired by a muse. I don't know how much juice he actually had, but a security guard from across the street told us to fuck off and we did.

I took this shot of where we actually met. I asked her where the Heart of America bridge was (it'd been written up in the Kansas City Scar for its bike lane that week, and since the geniuses who name these things can't go with something like 'Locust Street Bridge,' it can be hard to find what you're after).

She asked me if I wanted an apple. She had a pannier full of them from the farmer's market in the River Market. Like an Adam I accepted it.