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.