A Unique Conversation

"At any given time," she said, "there are at least two people exactly like us, in this same situation, having this exact same conversation."

She had a point. "What's your point?" I said.

"We're not as important as we think we are." She finished her wine. "I know you're not."

"Hey now."

"I mean I," she smiled, "I know I'm not." I took her glass and refilled it.

"Do you think," I asked, "that there are people having this same part of this conversation?"

"Yes," without hesitation. "But it narrows down."

"And the wine?"

"The wine helps."

I handed the glass over and sat beside her. "Wine always makes things unique."

"Mm, that it does, that it does, that it does..."

The scents of her wine, perfume, and hairspray mingled and grew in a way I was surprised I'd never noticed before. Perhaps this was the first time. Surely, I thought, we must be at the end of the line. Surely it is this moment, this smell, that separates us from all other conversations in time. We had reached the end of the funnel, and at the end of the funnel it was us. But whether or not to tell her.