Diane shrank into the back seat of the cab, staring out the window as they drove. The cabbie, a funky hippie chick with long blonde cornrow-braided hair, complete with metallic beads, was proud of her CD collection. Sheryl Crow�s �Home� filled the cab. Diane�s eyes welled with tears as the lyrics condemned her:

�I woke up this morning Now I understand What it means to give your life To just one man Afraid of feeling nothing No bees or butterflies My head is full of voices And my house is full of lies�I woke this morning To the sound of breaking hearts Mine is full of questions And it�s tearing yours apart��

�Could I have it quiet, please?� Diane managed to whisper.

�Oh, I�m sorry. Sure, lady. No problem.�

The rest of the cab ride was quiet, and Diane didn�t even mind that the cabbie chose the roads with the most traffic. She found the normal sounds and sights of the city, even the honking of the angry motorists in the streets, oddly comforting. Soon enough, they arrived at Diane�s building, and she reluctantly left her cocoon after paying the driver.

As the elevator delivered Diane to her empty apartment, she leaned against the wall and marveled at how quickly she had raced from love and elation to the total devastation of her love life, ruining a perfectly good friendship and straining her relationship with her partner in the process. They ought to name a hurricane after me, she thought.

Diane turned the corner and reached in her pocket for her keys. She looked up and stopped in her tracks. Harry was leaning against her door, arms crossed, glaring at her.

�Long time, no see,� she half-smiled.

�May I come in?� Harry asked.

Wordlessly, she opened the door and gestured for him to follow her. She hung her coat and her handbag on the rack, then turned and extended her hands to grab Harry�s coat. He removed it and handed it over. Diane pointed to the kitchen table, and Harry sat. Diane poured two glasses of water and returned to the table, sitting across from Harry. They drank their water for a moment, glancing occasionally at one another.

�I don�t know how to do this,� Harry said.

�I know. It�s all suspicion and lies to you. You don�t even consider that I might have my own take on the story.�

�Everyone lies.�

�Not everyone lies. Not all the time.�