I Don't Have A Love Life. I

To Write A Short Story, You Have To Be Able To Stay Up All Night.

She Smiled At Him, With Longing. 'where Do You Live,' She Asked, 'and How Do I Get There?

We Had Put Almost All Of Our Possessions In Storage, Which Was A Metaphor For Being Twenty, As Were So Many Things.

I Want To Pretend There's Such A Thing As Requited Love. As The Endurance Of Love.

Perhaps We Had At Last Reached That Stage Of Intimacy That Destroys Intimacy.