A year or so ago I was on a date with someone. It was our third date or so, and it was a warm, sunny early fall day. (Already sounding like a Nicholas Sparks novel, right?)
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She was the type of gal who would get a kick out of going to a fancy restaurant. At the time I didn't have a lot of cash. Actually, that's a massive understatement. Waiting on a freelance check that had yet to materialize in the mail, I had about $150 in my account that day and $40 in my wallet. We had planned to do something that involved $60 tickets that day, some outdoor concert, but when I went online to buy them that morning they were sold out. I silently thanked the ticket gods.
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"Come over anyway," I said, and sure enough, she did about an hour or two later. "What are we doing?" she asked, and I had no real idea. "We're going to go to Prospect Park," I said, thinking that I'd surely think of something along the way. It was about a thirty minute walk. Surely I could think