Only the Lonely

Met tonight, at the bar I recently saw Jennifer Connelly at (with Paul Bethany, loyal, hunky husband), with a scimitar of my youth, a man of irrepute, my second kiss in life, I do believe, at least of the male form. (Third, if you count silly Charlie, a boy I couldn't run from fast enough.) He came forth in the night of slutty puppets (for those who enjoy the phrase, yes, in the night of slutty puppets) and I can only be proud to have met him and known him. A man who listens, who does not pass judgment (at least, not visibly, p). A man who knew me when I was a child. (Childish, one can say.)

P, we can only do what we hope, try as hard as we can.

Back to sentiment now, see? I banish myself to the tower for bad girls who say "scimitar" with no reason, and who drink too many whiskeys without hesitation and say too much.