The young urban woman longs.
She doesn’t know for whom yet.
The young urban woman has friends.
They tell each other which dresses not to buy.
The young urban woman has money.
This helps her buy dresses she doesn’t wear.
The young urban woman has a walk-in closet.
This is where she puts the dresses she doesn’t wear.
The young urban woman looks out the window.
She rented the apartment for the view of the city.
The young urban woman feels empty.
Because she has so much already, this confuses her.
The young urban woman calls her friends.
They advise her to find a young urban man.
The young urban woman feels inadequate.
In spite of her cornucopia of dresses, she has nothing to wear.
The young urban woman meets a young urban man.
He doesn’t know what kind of shoes she’s wearing.
The young urban woman takes the young urban man to a bar.
There are neon lights, expensive cocktails; the music is popular.
The young urban man buys the young urban woman a drink.
It’s fruity and goes down easily, so he buys her another.
The young urban man read Sartre in college.
If he hadn’t written a paper on the bastard, he would have forgotten him.
The young urban woman also read Sartre in college.
She needs reminding about the points he made.
The young urban man explains Sartre to the young urban woman.
She can see a prideful glint behind his designer glasses.
The young urban woman thinks she likes the young urban man.
Could this be the whom of the question?
The young urban man suggests they get out of this place.
The young urban woman is curious as to this development.
The young urban woman takes him up the elevator to his apartment.
They giggle, adolescent again, anticipating a thrill.
The young urban woman fucks the young urban man.
The young urban woman thinks she has found the answer.
The young urban man wakes up before the young urban woman.
He leaves a note on the breakfast table with his number.
The young urban woman wakes up, makes coffee, finds the note.
Something clicks, and something else falls out of place.