December 6, 2019:
A long lifetime back, a city now lost and far away, where a very pretty girl sat cross-legged on a party floor, worried I'd misunderstood her name.
Half a century give or take.
I found her current photo on social media. Gray, fat, slack, with dull eyes and turkey neck, a ruin, holding her pugs, the one-time wife of my one-time false best friend.
There's more to this story.
That she kissed me after I defended him. Using me to materialize her anger.
What then is the meaning of her ruination?
More than merely time.