From afar I saw her, for she was sitting at some distance from me. Had she been closer I presume I would have seen her from up close, but alas, this is not as it was, so it shall not be how it is written. At first glance, I was unimpressed, her calves were hardly anything to write your senator about, but the way she held herself was fascinating. Standing amongst a gaggle of window washers, who I presume had attended for the sole purpose of consuming all my garlic bread, she managed to convey a sort of sadness, a sadness not ordinarily found when an individual is surrounded by so many of the window washing variety.
As I approached her I felt the weight of the world sitting comfortably somewhere between my pinky toe and it’s less popular neighbor.
“Hello,” I spoke.
“Is it?” she replied.
Confused I muttered “How about that?”

As we made love on my futon, which I had purchased earlier that week from a man with two fingers, I thought about my son. Where was he? Last I had heard he was somewhere around Vienna, or Istanbul. Today is his birthday.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok it happens to a lot of guys.”
“I know, but sometimes I lose faith...”
“In yourself?”
“In humanity.”
“Don’t stop believing.”
With that, she left my life for good.
The next morning I woke up wearing only a baseball cap for a team I’d never heard of. I walked to the bathroom to find something to look at myself in and came accross what I can only describe as a mirror. As I starred into the reflective surface I saw a man I hadn’t seen in some time, a man with hope, a man with potential, a man that looked a lot like...the piano man.