After sunset, Tom would sit at the computer, usually with a longneck bottle of beer for inspiration, and write about the day. Sometimes he wrote pages... other times just a few sentences. But without fail, every night he sent these memoirs to Hannah’s presumed email address. Last week, after a long, uneventful day, he wrote a two-page letter, explaining his loneliness and heartache. When it was finished, and the moment came to click ‘Send’, the pointer drifted onto the delete button and he pushed. Really worked, didn’t it?”“The bartender is right. It is a lousy line. You should try something else.”“Like what? I mean, a guy can always use help with these things.”“It depends on the woman.”“What works on you?”“The direct approach. Something like ‘come back to my place for a while’.”“Want to come back to my place for a while?”“No, thanks. I am waiting for my husband.”“Nuts.”She tried not to giggle at my disappointment. I took another gulp of beer, dropped some money on the bar and left. As I. More

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