It's seven fort-five in the evening. I'm watching a 60 minutes interview with Bill Clinton. He just confessed his least favorite nick name is "Slick Willy".

My free Nokia phone rings to the tune "clubbin'".

Hey what are you up to?

It's the woman named after the spring month.


ACT II



I'm watching Clinton. I tell her about a date I had earlier in the day. Palo Alto gal. How it's not going to work.

Spring name tells me she was in Palo Alto last night until late.

It's not going to work with Palo Alto gal, I say.

No? Why not?

We are too different. In fact, I deleted her phone number.

You did?

Yes.

Did you delete mine, too?

Yes I did.

Why?

Because, I thought, if she calls back so be it, but I'm not going to pursue this any further.

Do you do that a lot -- delete phone numbers?

Lately, yes I have.

I mean, I really enjoyed the couple of times we got together, she explains, but you could of told me before we had sex.

Yeah, but if I would have told you, you would have never had those couple of times, I quip.

She knows I'm right. And I'm beginning to sense there's something more here.

I'm cool with having a strictly physical relationship --

So am I.

But, there's a risk, and it's too great unless there's something more involved.

I know. I know. I can't be your boyfriend though. First of all, you smoke. Second, you're just not sensitive enough.

You've thought of this?

Yeah. I have.

(Laughter)

That's a turn on. Now, you've given me a challenge, she says.

And she's serious. I'm turning her on. She's so desperate. Desperate enough to extort love and to take my shit.

Aren't you presuming a lot? she asks.

Yes. Yes, I am being presumptuous. But I know I'm right.

Somewhere there is a thoracic surgeon using a power saw to slice through a xiphoid process. He's cracking a rib cage with a chisel and a hammer. There are sounds of compression and cracking like a couple of slabs of ice slowly colliding. Two of his assistants and a surgical nurse are pulling the ribs back, opening him up like a bloodied clam. There's cautery. The smell of human flesh burning. It's the smell of bodies burning. It's the smell of war.

"Look," I say "I'm just not ready for closeness, for any kind of intimacy really. I just got out of that two months ago and I'm not ready for it again."

"Fine then. I guess I'll talk to you later. Maybe I'll call you to go get a burrito or something."

"No, we can't be friends. If you call me again, we'll have sex. That's just how it'll be with us."

I tell her, "If you call me, it's because you want to have a physical relationship. And don't even try to manipulate it into something more, because it just won't work."

"Okaaaaaay. So, go ahead and delete my number again."

"All right."

"All right."

"Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

And this time -- this time I was the one who broke up with Krista.