Imagine this: 5:30pm. Peak of rush hour. Georgia @ Thurlow. You in the middle of the intersection. In an 80's minivan. With your 4-way flashers on.

Ya, so at least the tow truck driver was nice. He was probably only being nice 'cause I was all cute and stranded-helpless-female... but he cut me a pretty good deal. He showed me this envelope of photos of all the motorcycles he's towed for the movies. They were probably supposed to impress me.

I was waiting for a while on the sidewalk downtown. Cars flying past. People walking by. I felt invisible. I started to sing. Full out. My voice was carried away into the traffic. It was like when I sing in the middle of the woods, except that in place of trees there were skyscrapers.

I danced the night away with good friends. One friend-of-a-friend noticed me. He'd never looked my way before... and there he was buying me shots. And dancing real close. Perhaps it was my haircut. Perhaps it was my confidence that my hair looked good... Probably he was very drunk.

When the DJ was spinning Next's "Too Close" my heart sank. Chris. That moment was the very first time I felt real sadness at leaving him. I miss dancing with him. No other guys dance like he loves to. I wished he was there beside me to protect me from being picked up. And then I began to wonder where he was ... in some other club with some super skinny blonde rich girl... buying her drinks. Taking her home. Rubbing her back with the huge bottle of our favourite-smelling hand lotion I got for him. I don't want to know where my silk pj's are... still in his underwear drawer? Or long into the trash?