The other day I discovered a stack of parking tickets in a corner behind a chair—there must have been forty or fifty of them.
When she came in with the beer, I asked her why she was collecting them.
"Those!" she laughed. "As soon as my ex-husband sends me my goddamned check, I've got to pay some of them.
You have no idea how bad I feel about those tickets.
I keep them behind that chair because otherwise I get an attack of guilt feelings every time I see them.
But what is a girl supposed to do? Everywhere I go they've got signs all over the place—don't park here! don't park there!—
I just can't be bothered stopping to read a sign every time I want to get out of the car."
So I've promised I won't try to change her. She's exciting to be with.
A great sense of humor. But most of all she's a free and independent spirit.
The only thing that may become wearing after a while is her craze for dancing.
We've been out every night this week until two or three in the morning.
I don't have that much energy left. It's not love—but she's important to me.
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