I woke up that following Sunday, later than usual. I always went to the cemetary on Sundays, but I decided not to this time. I shuffled around my room, and sat in front of my vanity, and looked at myself in the mirror.

I rummaged through the drawers for my brush, and by chance, I happened upon the matchbook I had found on the previous Sunday. I had completely forgotten, in all my new emotional discoveries, about the mysterious young man, and the flowers and the note…

I was going downtown, seeing as I could without questioning. I ran to my closet, looking for something, anything that would be mysterious and…perfect for searching out mysterious men in lounges. Was I crazy? Perhaps.

And, nothing seemed right. All my clothes seemed almost silly…and girlish. I hadn’t gone shopping in ages. I went to my parent’s room. I hadn’t been in there since their death, but, my mother’s closet was calling to me.

And there it was, a black dress, it was fitted, and seductive almost…