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+	Early spring, still the middle of March, temperamental weather, one day itÕs near freezing rain, but then just thunderheads and a genuinely warm breeze blowing haphazardly, without intention across the patio of the Manhattan.
+	It was a mistake. I should never have instigated it. We should have stayed at home in bed. She should have stayed in New York. I didnÕt like her being here. She didnÕt fit in. Jimmy and Scratch seemed to like her. She and Jimmy traded New York stories over a sushi dinner. Chloe was in New Orleans with Bicycle Man. She should have been here with us. With me. To tell me what to do.
+The problem was that I donÕt like Ty. He always talked about Neruda and all these Cuban and South American poets IÕd never heard of. I used to like the man. Two summers ago he and Dean and I sat around drinking mohitos or sangria and he would tell us stories about Cuba and Spain, stories so beautiful you could smell the Cuban sugar fields growing around you or smell Spanish kitchens and imagine you were sitting at a rough-hewn wood table sipping dark wine by lantern light. Later Jimmy told me Ty had never left the south. What he knew about Cuba came from travel guides. We had been swindled.
+Maya was her radiant self, smiling as she sucked vodka cranberries through a black straw. ÒI like your friends Sil,Ó she said when Ty was in restroom and Jimmy procuring more drinks.
+ÒIÕm glad,Ó was all I could think to say.
+ÒScratch is kind of,Ó she hesitated to glance over her shoulder and then leaned toward me, Òold. WhatÕs he doing hanging around with you guys?Ó
+I shrugged. Some strange indifference had crept over me. Who asks questions like that? Does the answer actually matter? Is there an answer? It would take all day to explain it and nothing would be any clearer when you were done. She seemed young to me then and the feeling keeps lurking around.
+Jimmy came back with the drinks and when I saw Ty come out of the restroom I excused myself from the table. I locked the door and leaned over the sink, staring in the mirror. I stared until I lost touch with the fact that this image, this person in front of me, was me. I splashed some water on my face and headed back out to the patio.
+ÒHow long have you and Sil been together?Ó
+	ÒWhat?Ó
+	ÒHow long, have you and Sil, been together?Ó
+	IÕd had to much too drink, but TyÕs leering face was far to close to Maya and I could already tell he didnÕt give two shits how long weÕve been together. He wanted to know how hard it would be to come between us. He must have read a book on how to get someone elseÕs girlfriend. 
+	Later she remarks that he was nice. A bit drunk but nice. She brought him up after he was gone. He existed again even in his absence. I said nothing and tried to keep the wheels between the yellow and white lines. 
+	A week later she left. A week after that Ty left, and Dean and I broke into his house and pawned his guitar and amplifier. We spent the money on a Costa Rican travel guide and felt redeemed. Dean felt so good he took the rest of the money and moved to Brooklyn.
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