My hands grip your arms. I touch the place on your shoulder where I know you have a tattoo, although I have still never seen it in person. I look up...and you kiss me with such force that I gasp. My toes curl up in my shoes, and I press myself into you. My arms around your neck. A break in the kiss. You disappear again briefly and my shirt is gone. Stomach to stomach, chest to chest, our hearts are trying to break free - beating with such force it's as if they have fists. They are in a. ’” She giggled. “Anyway, Mom’s heading down to the Analog and is going to order coffee for everyone, so you need to be there in—let’s see—twelve minutes. ‘Bye!” With that she skipped off down the back stairs outside my door and was gone.Makeover? Oh. Yeah. Bring money. Damn.I read somewhere that on average women who have been dumped spend $800 on a makeover. When Hope left me and cleaned out my loft, I spent $12.95 on a case of beer and didn’t change clothes for two weeks. That was the last. More

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