I spilled my wine. My shirt turned burgundy. I said, At least it wasn’t milk. But she called me stupid. And my life went downhill from there.

This was not how I designed my aspirations for love, but she loves me and I love her, and when she smiles, she takes my past, and erases it.

He buys her a drink and sits. She studies him, wearily. He says, You’re very sensual. She takes a sip of her drink. And you smell, she says.

And then I realized I had consumed my final drink and I tried to stand but felt the rotation of the earth and I sat down and ordered another.

He enters her apartment. She says, I have nothing to hide. He spots a guitar in the corner. And he starts to play it. Except that, she says.