by Jaime Olin
"It just doesn't work for me" can't possibly be our last words on the subject. And yet there she goes; out the door, down the street, across town, or for all I know, just over the brick wall that separates my building from the alley. Now there's a stranger staring back at me from the oil-slicked surface of the elliptical street puddle, a man I've never met. Both shaken and stirred, A Man Who's Been Dumped. A long-legged blonde on a Vespa splashes through the outskirts of the bewildering puddle, upsetting the stranger's broken face, belaboring what I guess is the point; more dumpty than humpty these days. And that just won't work for me, either.
Jaime Olin can be reached here.