The shapes of grapes...

All evening he captivated her interest. Over dinner he discussed the landmarks of London and how the weather affects his sleeping patterns. In the car he leaned back, his long legs contorted into geometric shapes. He chewed on the earpiece of her sunglasses, talking about meetings he had lined up with so-and-so. Fascinated, she listened and watched his forehead crinkle as he paused—searching for a unique analogy for such-and-such. At an uptown wine bar, a woman brought the menu and they perused it —Bordeaux, Pinot Noir, Cannonau, Viognier— discussing the grapes in the drawings and how they looked almost geographic. One, Italy. One, Africa. When it was time to order, she felt sure his knowledge of wine would surpass hers, as with most everything else. He confidently asked for something "full-bodied". Alone at the table, he looked at her with a sideways grin and said, "I have no idea what that means." They laughed. The evening seemed more real after that.