The violins weep for the suburban longings crushed by the lies that my brain told me. I would have preferred an oboe but where are you going to find one at three in the San Francisco morning? Another night wasted in pursuit of pathetic ecstasy. Lolas pulling at my sleeves, begging to dance for me. Slow walks to dark corners where lurk the distant memories of that one time when all this was worth it. Again the disappointment in her face. She knows she isn’t the one I’ll remember on my deathbed. The one that I fell in love with.