“Hey there. You’re looking good. Hope you’re feeling good. It’s been a long time. x” That was all it took to re-establish contact with the first girl who broke his heart. It turned out that she wasn’t feeling so good, having just divorced the man who broke her heart, and the occasional rib. It didn’t surprise him. A spirit like hers would only be satisfied in a relationship where she either dominated some poor fool, or was so overruled and brow-beaten in everything that she could brew her dissatisfaction to a potent concentration – essence of pure hatred. In fact, he couldn’t remember why he ever went out with her.
We all want to receive gifts. They’re too tempting to pass up, whatever they are. So, when she promised him a little present, he willingly gave her his address. He later mused on how naïve he’d been to be surprised when she turned up at his door a week later, mascara running down her face (with suspiciously dry eyes), a sob story three hours long and a suitcase in tow.