"Some weather we are having, huh? Are you here to see Brigitte?" HisItalian accented voice was deep and gravelly. He smiled at Sam, chewingcasually...at the end of a cocktail stick."Brigitte?" Sam remembered the poster he had seen outside. "Oh, yes.I'm a fan." Hmm, at least that's somebody. She has a hard time pulling a crowd asyou can see." The man gestured to the meagre gathering of people. "Myname is Julius, I own the club."Sam smiled awkwardly, taking his offered hand, surprised as he. I told him about Elizabeth, and the way she flaunts herself, by showing her cleavage, and purposely wearing clothes that would show off her big breasts. And she just seems to attract boys, and she makes sure to remind me about it. Why would my best friend act that way? It just feels like the whole world wants bigger and bigger breasts. I don't know what's wrong with me, everything just seems to trap me in such a sad place, and it makes me sort of hate myself because of it.But David saves me. He. For another 18 months, we tolerated a long-distance relationship, of the sort which, I’m told, is far more common than we might imagine. I moved to a smaller, cheaper, flat in London, and Eve lived with her father. Each Friday, one of us would make the 3-hour journey to join the other and after our lunch on Sunday, we’d return to our separate week-day lives. We’d spend the school holidays together of course, but it was a pretty miserable and lonely life. Perhaps it’s because teaching can be. Amidst my loneliness, I turned to my old friend Max who owned a small diner that he'd built from nothing. He was a happy man despite losing his wife in a car accident. I had frequented his cafe for years for conversation and the greasy gut bombs that my wife never allowed me to eat; sneaking them home to devour during football games while she was away. Eventually I sold the house full of memories at a loss, and moved into an apartment in town to await my own demise.One particular rainy.