What do we do? Intelligence is worry. Must my lover worry the whole night through? I chose her because her sensitivity was a spell. Her beauty demanded intelligence. She was intelligent. I could tell. This morning she looks different. "I didn't sleep," she avers. "And it's your fault. You're a creep." The worst thing about the courtship was I was always in a hurry. Late for work because I was dreaming of her. When she gave in, she was a flower. Things are different this hour. Something seems strange. I study her face. My blood cools. Intelligence is worry--- there's nothing I can do. I say goodbye. Not looking back, I hurry.
