Men who type with two fingers—
—cannot be trusted though they can be easily manipulated and even, if you try, broken.
I am guilty of hurting too many men. Ben, Jonny, Danny, Chris.
Chris was a piano player. He played the Rach 3 the way others played Heart and Soul, casually, whenever he encountered an upright or a baby grand. He painted a portrait of my breasts. He drove his Buick into a stop sign while changing the radio to find that college station that played jazz at night. There was a terrible crash.
There is always a terrible crash.