I know better than to eavesdrop on conversations when I am in this kind of mood and especially when I have had more than one Gimlet. I hoped that the morose tale the woman told her friend would end on a happy note—in fact I desperately wanted to hear “she rode off into the bright horizon with the man of her dreams,” but I did not. The somber music coming from the cello did not help matters; its sad tones amplifying my own sorrow. I knew how the story was going to end and I could not bear it.

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