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Bet you didn't think this would happen, eh?

Without thinking, Kathy-or-maybe-Karen made a beeline for him. She climbed over the mound of snow between two buried cars to the slushy street and called out triumphantly, “There you are!”

The metrosexual stopped and looked up, clearly puzzled. He opened his mouth to say something, perhaps something along the line of “Do I know you?” or “What the hell do you want?” but Kathy-or-maybe–Karen didn’t give him a chance. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all week,” she said, stepping in an ice-crusted puddle in the gutter up to her ankle. She pulled her foot out quickly and stepped onto the curb between some trash, shaking her foot. “That’s my bag.”

Recognition flickered in the man’s blue eyes, and the confusion on his face being rapidly replaced by apprehension. “You lost the bunny ears,” he said.

Kathy-or-maybe–Karen frowned. The hat had been so obvious that he had even been able to see it was bunny during a blackout? How could she have been so stupid? She was beginning to suspect that she was never going to live it down.

“Yes. No more bunny. Can I have my bag back?” She stepped forward, her arm outstretched, knocking over a box of trash in the process. Worn, yellowing paperbacks scattered over the icy sidewalk, the faded, baroque figures that graced their covers gazing at each other and Kathy-or-maybe-Karen and the metrosexual with a repressed longing. Their clothing looked like it was about to burst free under the force of it.

Kathy-or-maybe-Karen hardly spared it a glance. She needed to get that bag.

“Hey!” the metrosexual protested, pointing at Kathy-or-maybe-Karen’s foot. “You’re stepping on them!”

“What?” she said, stepping back instinctively.

The metrosexual dropped the bag of yarn and stooped to pick up one of the books. Kathy-or-maybe-Karen stared in disbelief as he lovingly brushed the snow from it; it might have been his mother’s wedding picture for all the fuss he was making over it. “I can’t believe somebody was throwing this out!” He picked up another book, brushed it off, and flipped it open to read the copyright.

Kathy-or-maybe-Karen took a closer look at the books. “The Devil’s Desire?”

“Oh, that’s here, too?” he said excitedly, picking it up.

Kathy-or-maybe-Karen shot a look across at the street. Gladys, her curiosity aroused, was coming across. “Look, about the bag-”

The metrosexual looked up at her and smiled. His eyes were a very pale, clear blue. “Night Nurse,” he said, holding up one of the tattered books for her to see. On it cover was a nurse in a blond beehive and a crisp white uniform several sizes too small exhibiting what Kathy-or-maybe–Karen considered very unprofessional behavior involving a sultry man with a stethoscope.

“Could you forget the stupid books? I need to talk to you about my bag!”

The metrosexual took umbrage. “These are not stupid books! These are classics!”

“They’re trash. The only Classic these books have even the remotest thing in common with is Moby-”

“Who’s your friend?” Gladys asked, stepping up onto the mound of snow next to the boxes. The older woman eyed the metrosexual, then looked at Kathy-or-maybe-Karen expectantly.

The metrosexual was not to be put off. “That’s a very closed-minded thing to say,” he protested. “I would think that as a woman you would be able to recognize that passion does not exclude depth of feeling and meaning.”

“Sex is sex,” Kathy-or-maybe-Karen said. “That’s all. Love is just something it gets dressed up with to look respectable.”

Gladys glanced apprehensively between them.

The metrosexual stood up. “You don’t really mean that,” he said.

“Like hell I don’t!” Kathy-or-maybe-Karen retorted. She couldn’t believe this guy. First he’s getting all excited over some dirty books, and now he was telling her how she felt about sex! This kind of situation wasn’t supposed to happen with anyone she hadn’t been dating for at least two months.

Apparently Gladys was thinking the same thing. “Would you two like a minute or two alone?” she enquired timidly.

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