She asked him for a lighter. He was tall with blonde hair, a tattoo of an eagle on his neck. He looked tired. He told her the best places to see in San Francisco. Delores Park. An address scribbled on the back of a coaster, illegible by morning. He wrote in smudged cursive. He seemed older than his age, and she told him so. This made him proud. He drank vodka waters and gingerly licked the limejuice from his fingertips. They danced and danced and danced. He died in his sleep. She found out on Facebook. She didn’t know if it would be rude to contact his family, so she didn’t. She only knew him one night. She asked him for a lighter.