Damned if you do and damned if you don't

Luke sent through the usual monthly care package last week. It's nothing special; some brownies, a letter from my mom and the walking Etch-A-Sketch, a small packet of cash (I always let him know how pissed I get about that) and some flyers of town events 'cause he likes to think he can do subtle invites. He can't.

But in amongst the flyers for all of Taylor's weird charity festivals, there's one that catches my eye. It's not actually in Stars Hollow-and let me tell you, just seeing that makes me a breathe a sigh of relief-it's in Hartford. A classics convention. Stuffy and boring are the first words that spring to mind but then I spotted that they've actually got a section devoted to First Editions of the likes of Ginsberg and Cassady-a Beatnik's heaven!

I never dreamed I'd see her there. Thought she was off reporting on the Obama campaign. Actually, maybe hoped is a better word.

I'd been seeing this other girl for a while. Katy. She's got sort of purplish curls, brown eyes. Petite, mischievous and stunning.

But there she is. My weakness. Standing about 10 feet away from me, clutching a First Edition of Swann's Way and looking at me as if I'm the only person in the room. You're a booktease. She's crossing the room, still staring and before I have time to turn and walk away, her mouth's clamped onto mine and my tongue's slipping down her throat. Damn her! But that's the thing, isn't it? I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't.

Fuck it. I'll pay for this later.

Might as well enjoy it now.