There were a whole bunch of nights something like that, sort of hollow and full of sad at the same time, and then a bunch going out that tugged me up by ponytail. The first night it seemed impossible to go anywhere, wrong and not possible. The second night it seemed a shame to try. The third night I sat with the older women in the corner and someone passed around introductions and shots of something red and super sweet.

At best, it must be true that we are better than our simple interests. Not being able to help admitting to interests is far from worse case.