Marissa placed her hand on my shoulder and thanked me for helping with the three-month anniversary celebration of her relationship with Brad. We had just set a table in the lunch room of the company where we all worked, Brad in accounting on the third floor of the building, Marissa and I in the fourth floor marketing department. In about a half hour, at closing time, we would be toasting Marissa’s and Brad’s relationship, and they would be exchanging little gifts that I had helped both pick out for each other. At five-thirty, I would be helping clean up the room, and at midnight that night, at home, alone, I would still be feeling her hand on my shoulder. True love of a man for a woman involves helping her in any way he can, even if it breaks his heart.

My neighbor Betty had become my nemesis. I’m not sure how it all began, but over the last 13 days, things had escalated into an intolerable state. Though we love our neighbors, somehow I knew that today it would end, resulting in the end of Betty or the end of me. I looked back at the 13 days, trying to figure out how it had gotten to this point.

From: Leo A. Davenport
To: Jane McIntyre-Davenport
Time: 9:03 a.m.
Subject: Looking forward to the weekend

One thing: do you think you could remember to flush the toilet from now on, after a shower? This isn’t the first time I’ve asked, as you know. It’s just unpleasant; you’re my wife.

Also, I feel like we have to have a longer conversation about Janet. Another weird exchange this morning.

Looking forward to the weekend!

John had turned a corner. Not figuratively so much as literally. As in he was headed forward and had taken a sharp 90 degree turn after passing the end of the wall to his left. As people turning corners often do. Anyway, John had turned a corner, and what he found around the bend changed his life forever. Wait, I guess that means he sort of turned a corner figuratively, as well. Okay, forget that first bit, then.

J doesn’t suffer all the comments laid down like bear traps to drag him down to their level.

J knows he is no Michael Jackson but enjoys the sound of his voice and the attention, even if it is in the form of ‘fag’ and ‘retard’ and ‘8====D~~~’.

J has learned to live with such people.