It’s Valentines Day and a full juicy sexy moon dangles over the city of Vancouver all decked out in her diamonds tonight. The evening is so warm, I don’t even need a jacket.
I am on the phone with a dear friend who has a new delicious lover and she went on and on, insisting that I should get one. He will come. 
The liquor store is full of people who are either getting laid or getting drunk and a musician plays out on the sidewalk beside his skulky pit bull, “don’t worry about a thing, cuz every little thing’s gonna be alright”.
I am on my way to the grocery store to get myself a chicken. Along the produce aisle, as I squeeze the melons for firmness, a scruffy-in-a-good-way fellow in a soft flannel coat slightly frayed, looks up at me from the bananas. It is clear what he’d like to do to me right. this. minute. With my red cowboy boots on.
I haven’t seen that look in a while. It makes me gasp. I have to cling to something common sense and all I can think about is the chicken. I must roast a chicken for Bill in case he comes home hungry from work. I smile and bolt and grab my naked splayed saucy poultry all breasts and thighs and rush home. I am greeted by my cat in heat. Again. How is that possible? She is in agony, arching her back with unabashed yearning. I say to her in exasperation, “Oh honestly!” She snakes around my legs meoooooowwwwwwing meooowwwwwwwwing meowwwwwwwwing and I crack the red and lock the door. Tom cats are on the prowl and I’m keeping the kitty safe inside.
