Nights when I would pour drinks for the triple scotch man, who, before he paid the bill would count the buts in his adjtray, one smoke per drink, to double check that he wasn’t’t being ripped off, the linemen with giant necks and fingers all kinds of crooked, mmotercyckr gang members with leather vests and exquisite ink all up and down their arms. She would appear at the bar. Smile laugh. Her eyes dancing, bright like lightening, she take would take her drinks on her tray and disappear into the dining room, into the kitchen,always just long enough to miss her. And from the moment I saw her I wondered. Wondered what it would be like. And I called, found her number on this form or that one. And she never asked where I got it and I never vilunto tell her.