Gina’s best friend, who lives in South Texas ("back home" as she calls it), is named Angie.
     Angie is here for the weekend, staying with Gina as the Malaysian roommate is once again MIA, staying at her boyfriend’s apartment where he lives alone. Watching them in the early afternoon, as they fussed over casual clothes to wear to the Old Pecan Street Festival, their yin and yang qualities began to become apparent. Where Gina is spiritual in her art and her appreciation of world culture and the exotic, Angie is very much about the here and now. Where Gina admires the earthy thoughts of the Wiccans and the rhythms of the Gipsy Kings, Angie is about Life’s Little Instruction Book and Sarah Maclachlan.
     Angie is also more sisterly, asking me a dozen questions in the first five minutes I met her. She asked about my family, my romances (two parents, one brother, two serious ex-boyfriends) and what’s fun to do in Austin.
     "Not just clubs and art galleries," she said to me, mock whispering even as Gina stood within earshot, pulling her hair into a clip. "A good movie theater or a place to shoot pool!" Angie said.
     We drove to Sixth street. It had rained in the morning and the air was damp and hot, the invisible sizzle enveloping us. The street was blocked to traffic the way it is on Friday nights, but instead of drunken fratboys and tequila-shot hipsters, the patrons wielded strollers, plain t-shirts with countless tacky slogans ("I may be drunk but you’re ugly and I’ll be sober in the morning") and the ubiquitous cheap plastic cups of Shiner Bock.
     Each booth for the first stretch seemed to come right out of a Martha Stewart Community College course. Wood planks with cute nature carvings, wall hangings with wisdom of the ages about cat ownership, and lots of pottery and candles. Is it just me or has incense gone the way of the Guns ‘n Roses poster? Instead we have scented candles and people who still use incense now are most likely trying to cover a smell of pot so strong the candles alone won’t mask it.
     Gina looked casually at the goings-on while Angie stopped at nearly every booth, picking up knick-knacks and trying every available snack sample from roasted almonds to cotton candy.
     While Gina wandered, Angie stuck close to me, making little jokes about the merchandise or pointing out guys she thought were cute. She touched me often, putting a hand to my shoulder, tapping me on the arm, or squeezing my hand and pulling me in this direction or that.
     Gina would walk a bit, wander back and occasionally say something in Spanish to Angie. We all bought margaritas at a fruit stand and sipped the cold liquid even as our brows sweated and our t-shirts clung to us as if by static.
     There were several different bands playing, one Tejano, one country and one some strange rap hybrid. As we walked, the sound of distant strains collided with people comparing bargains and competing for prizes at different stands.
     After an hour or so, we were all tired and weary from the sun and walked three blocks back to the car.
     I dropped them off the co-op and went home to change for our night out – a movie and some clubbing, a compromise between the two best friends.
     Gina was still primping in the mirror when Angie invited me outside for a smoke. I don’t do cigarettes, but I went anyway to hear her talk.
     She told me a little about Gina. Gina had mentioned these writings, but not too extensively, and that’s probably a good thing.
     She said when she didn’t like Gina for nearly a year after she met her. She’d known her since middle school and Gina was considered stuck-up.
     "Her dad was working for the city and she always came to school in these dresses when a lot of us were wearing hand-me-downs and couldn’t afford backpacks, you know?" Angie said between pulling deep drags from her Kamel.
     They had classes together in 7^th grade and became friends in spite of themselves. Angie says now she was a little fascinated by the pretty girl with the big house while Gina must have found some appeal in getting to know a girl whose parents were poor, but kind.
    "Our parents live five miles away from each other and Gina and I have been best friends for years and they’ve only met maybe two or three times! They’re just from different worlds."
     We went back inside, grabbed our purses and made our exit.