“Stop flattering yourself. I am here because I care. Care about what happens to your drunken worthless hide! How long have you been living under this bridge? Get a job! We had something once and it was fantastic until you and Jim Beam became friends. Remember Bermuda and the sunrise holding my hand as we walked the beach and saw God paint the sky lavender, rose, pink and orange.”

He began to cry as the emotions began to overwhelm him, The memory, the soft touch of her lips against his, her smell the Opium perfume. Oh the aroma! Then anger swelled from deep within his bowels and overtook the sentiment. “Get the hell out of here!!!! This is my bridge! My place who are you to judge! Screwing around with my best friend leaving me my piano. A goddamn piano with no place to play it! You sanctimonious whore leave me the f*#$ alone!”

With seven years of pent up anger like a heavy weight fighter she slapped him. He went down, clutched his bottle of Jim Beam and fetally curled up and ignored her.