I was sitting on a corner of a long, white couch and she was sitting on the other corner of the same long, white couch. The couch itself was in the corner of a wide, white room. I don't do serious conversations well, but she had me cornered and surprised. With not even half a pint to hide behind, with no room for maneuver, no cover or distraction: there she was, so very serious, and there I was, a paper shadow at the end of the firing range. She was such a good shot too.

“I’ve been thinking, you know, thinking a lot,” she said. “You’re crazy. You just show up here, thinking I have no life of my own, thinking everything is just like it was so many months ago, thinking there are no more men in the world but you. You just show up here and want me to play along with your silly little games, to drop everything for you, and you don’t listen to me when I say no. You just show up, you’ll be gone soon, gone for months, and then you’ll be back and it’ll all be the same story all over. You’re crazy - and I’ve been thinking a lot lately about this, but I don’t think I like crazy quite as much as I thought I did. You know, none of my other friends are like this. They have a life, they know where they are going, they’ll be somebody someday. You’re crazy, and I don’t think I like crazy anymore.”

(-from the bottom of a dusty drawer #1)