It’s my purgatory, really — dinner, drinks, whatever. Never really all that interested, but I find myself telling her how beautiful she is anyway. Because it’s true — all women are in one way or another. You know, there’s always something about every damn one of you — there’s a smile, a curve, a secret. You ladies really are the most amazing creatures. My life’s work. But then there’s the morning after, the hangover and the realization that I’m not quite as available as I thought I was the night before. And she’s gone, and I’m haunted by yet another road not taken.