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"At some point you get to try anything.

When she left, she took everything and I didn’t mind. There was nothing I wanted besides her and she wouldn’t hear about it. The house, the car, the goddamn records, Beatles, The Stones, the records we used to listen in the kitchen. I remember it perfectly, it was warm outside and she was wearing this short blue summer dress and the sun was shining on her shins, the silk was dancing on her thighs and she was beautiful. The Beatles were playing in the background while she was cooking something possibly weird but certainly delicious and I was probably having another drink, the one too many. Sun shining, poison flowing.
At least she took the records with her. After she left, I couldn’t listen to that music anymore. Too many memories. I hated it."

("Routine" by Mick Zavulon)