So I’m holding a wall up downtown, reading a book.
When I hear this woman cry, I decide to take a look.”
“Look” She says. “I don’t know you, but I like your style.”
I’m very aloof now, she’s crying all the while.
She’s appears to be drinking or worse.
Just then a note fell from her purse.
“We’re Through.” It defiantly yelled.
“I Don’t get it!” She sobbed; “I thought we gelled.”
She spotted him walking on his divorce grounds.
I went to my book and she, her magazine of fifteen rounds.