Underneath of me there is a pool of shit. I envision you struggling to come out, as you fight your lower tummy cramps, taking too long to come out of the coffee shop toilet. And then, I turn round and I see you. You are standing with the familiar pose, one hip slightly leaning. You are talking about cultural imperialism, or something, to a woman, whose face I cannot see. What if she is funnier than me? What if she entertains you more than I would do? What if, she will take you by the hand and make you laugh more than I do? I love you x