I once met a girl at a bar. Actually it was an open bar. Dangerous stuff. We went back to her apartment. The next morning the bed was covered with pee. Every square inch soaked. Even the pillows were wet. It was either her, or me, or her fat angry cat.  I suspect the cat. We didn’t talk about the elephant in the room, or the Lake Superior on her bed.

—Jack Diamond

Aftermath: There was no second “date.”

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