She wears a rock on her finger greater than her age. There isn’t a pore visible on her face. She wears designer clothing and if you look under her sink at home there are hundreds of bags from Madison Avenue and she might use them again at Christmas time just for show and a subtle hint. He golfs on Sundays (and sometimes Saturdays if he’s not too hungover and there is no game). He frequents Vegas and plays black jack beneath a 50 dollar minimum. Sometimes he gets pissed and visits the hotel spa for a massage and a quick handjob. He tips the woman a twenty. Her only worry is having work done on her nails and whether or not she’s fertile. He drinks Lite beer and whiskey (but only on weekends and Holidays). I don’t envy her but she thinks I do. She is reminded of her left ring finger daily and moves it around with her thumb. He isn’t around much. She goes to Yoga because she saw Christy Turlington on the cover of a Time magazine in a pose she wanted to try. He wonders if he’ll ever forget about that time he and the boy next door kissed. There is no award ceremony at the end of life. When I see her on the subway I sometimes wonder where the day takes them both even if it does so separately.