It's an odd progression, and yet somehow, it fits; it works.You look around and begin to take everything in. The lights are off, but the room is lit b... candles, lots of them. I've gathered together every candle I have, and lit them all at the same time. The air is filled with their warmth and with the smell of incense. You can't identify it, but it's earthy; it makes you think of green things growing and of warm spring rain. Van Morrison is playing on the stereo, singing about magic and romance. “Okay and?” she said.“He spit in my face,” he said.“He did what!” she said. “What did you do?”“I spit in his face! And I felt good doing it,” he said.‘What the hell!” she said. “And that’s your definition of kid gloves.”“I had to do it, and, I guess so did he. Abigail, it was matter of respect. Believe it or not, it was a matter of respect. If I’d just rolled over, or, in his mind if he had...” he said.“Men!” she said. “You’re all nuts!”“That is likely an accurate assessment,” he said, and he. More

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