Friday, April 10, 2009. From the time we sat in Boat waiting for Mr. Wrong, how I feasted on gazing at him, Quiet Man, sitting next to me. The low glow of the bar lighting, perched on my comfortable bar stool; my back to the divider of the bar and the walkway between it and the dining room, gave me the luxury of looking at this handsome and complex man. He sat at the bar, with his Ray-Bans until he, for whatever reason, took them off. Quiet Man had turned to wink at me with a boyi.

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