Just just Take, for example, Date No. 10, which discovered me personally at a Rhode Island pub for an evening so brutally cold the authorities had advised us all to stay indoors february. James had been a watercraft builder, blonde and small. We drank the espresso martinis he had argued and ordered about welfare; we chatted of dads. Later on we decamped to his apartment, a flimsy, spartan place that however held probably the most exquisite furniture, tables he’d inlaid with ash and birch and varnished till they gleamed. The warmth failed in the exact middle of the evening, therefore we clung to one another for heat as their dog, Bruce, A german shepherd, curled and recurled at our foot.