I Want My Best Friend Back, She

I Love Billy Wilder, And I Love The Way That His Films Can Be Very Touching And Very Moving And Very Romantic, And At The Same Time There's Always A Little Cynical Undertone, There's Always Something That Undercuts Things.

He's Laughing Me Into A Stupor, She Thought. I Could Heckle, I Suppose, I Could Throw A Bread Roll At Him, But He's Eaten Them All. She Glanced At The Other Diners, All Of Them Going Into Their Act, And Thought Is This What It All Boils Down To? Romantic Love, Is This All It Is, A Talent Show? Eat A Meal, Go To Bed, Fall In Love With Me And I Promise You Years And Years Of Top Notch Material Like This?

The Sad Fact Is That I Love Dickens And Donne And Keats And Eliot And Forster And Conrad And Fitzgerald And Kafka And Wilde And Orwell And Waugh And Marvell And Greene And Sterne And Shakespeare And Webster And Swift And Yeats And Joyce And Hardy, Really, Really Love Them. It’s Just That They Don’t Love Me Back.

Sorry' He Said. 'no, I'm Sorry.' 'what Are You Sorry For?' 'rattling On Like A Mad Old Cow. I'm Sorry, I'm Tired, Bad Day, And I'm Sorry For Being So...boring.' 'you're Not That Boring.' 'i Am, Dex. God, I Swear I Bore Myself.' 'well, You Don't Bore Me.' He Took Her Hand In His. 'you Could Never Bore Me. You're One In A Million, Em.

She Wondered If She Was Doomed To Be One Of Those People Who Spend Their Lives Trying Things.