13. 3:00 p.m. - 3:30 p.m.

Laur isn't beautiful in the "traditional" sense. There was nothing subtle about her face. It was like it was carved out of wood, smooth and perfect until it wanted to change or take a turn, at which point it did so sharply. And it was dark. Like mahogany or tobacco.

She told me about her brother, a heroin addict. His wife put him in rehab and while he was kicking, she started seeing someone on the sly. He gets out, clean, and is crushed that she's leaving him. He spikes again--loses himself to it for good. I say, "I thought you said this was a happy story." She says, "It is. Because neither one of them is wrong for doing what they did."

I sit here now, deformed by thinking about where she may be and what she may be up to.º

Do I deserve to feel the way I do when I behaved the way I did? No, but deserves got nothing to do with it.º Either does logic. I can't explain most of the things that run through my head.

For instance: I'm sitting with a friend. She's a shrink. She asks me to think of an image, a scenario, or a phrase that defines me in the context of my relationship with Laur.

"I see a man who sneezes, and when he does, a tooth flies out."

"Interesting," she says.

Bullshit, I say.

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