Sitting in another uncomfortable airplane seat. Lying in another oversized hotel bed. Staring out at stars above and below. Researching private islands along the equator and the feasibility in my lifetime (quite is the result). There’s a knock on the door.

“Doctor Romero?”

A horny brunette nurse would be lovely. Instead, it’s a bill with “Dr.” in front of my name. A mistake in the paperwork. Isn’t that just life for you? Paying for charges and mistakes.

“Ah.”

I stopped the extraneous gratitude some time ago. Don’t thank for what you ain’t thankful. Not right to let people think you are.

I wish I had whiskey instead.

All the hearts I throttled I did with love. Caressed ‘em slow and suppose I just reacted to them getting further away from me. Clenched a little too hard. That gets to hurting just as much as distance. And, you know, this hearts talk, it’s just fanciful for people. All sorts. A few I got to loving and never stopped. Just kept on, even the one I hated enough to say hate. Betrayal’s what got me that time. Betrayal’s what’s got me since.

It’s about as clear as that. Been hurt, don’t want to be hurt again. Hope I won’t be kicking around from woman to woman for the rest of my life. Not now, anyway. Hope’s still got me, too.

And, God, this low light. I don’t see the switch anywhere for a second one. Something that won’t set a mood I don’t want to be in.