I drove downtown to meet her in the bar she works at ; I tried to negotiate prices.

No chance.

But enjoying her face, her voice, her self, was fine and (in the end) enough for me.

I begged, but maybe my eau de parfum did not smell expensive enough or I was not

dominating enough or could not impress her enough rhetorically to make her

let me lay her.

I should not talk like that, but that’s the voice of my grief.