Oh, but who am I kidding? It's obvious that there are still so many feelings left - contradictory and unpredictable. And I'm supposed to be telling you what happened at Nike's party. That is the reason for my writing this letter. And I am aware, as my shuddering body reminds me, that in order for you to understand what happened, I must relate to you what has been happening, or rather what has not been happening between myself and Macy, a relationship which must seem entirely innocent to you, as I have ever so rarely discussed it. And I do apologize profusely for that, but there was never a moment when I was not so entirely confused that I could possibly broach the subject with any hope of clarity. Ah, but I'm already making excuses.

Of course, I thought myself capable of their magic. I believed if I had only had the chance to sit in degustation from a tender age, I would have developed a similar ability. But as we were not privileged with such a Dionysian patrimony, for many years I thought we had been rescued from that dizzying duty of having to taste so many wines (I did not know that one spits).

I caught Luke at the corner of the street, he wearing his red anorak and bowler hat; so silly: the rain was collecting in the rim, dumping on his shoulders at every twist of the head; he looked like a leaking fire hydrant. But he hardly recognized me staring out of the cab. After I finally ventured out into the rain, I yelled at him: "You have a hood on that thing, why don't you use it?" But he said it wasn't big enough for the hat. I didn't ask for an explanation. And since Luke quickly took notice of my hair, I wasted no time asking him if I could shower at his place. When you're alone with Luke, it's best to be brief. As it turned out, he was on his way to a meeting. He wasn't planning on going back to his dormitory until right before Nike's party. I mentioned how fortuitous our meeting was, and he, being very conscious of fate, was obliged to change his plans. Giving up his key, Luke said that he would meet me in his room, and that he would be, at the very most, an hour.

Four years ago (you shall remember) I was in Austria (the beloved Österreich! may she grow in peace!) visiting our mother's cousin, whose daughter was able to provide me with an almost constant companionship. One Sunday, we went drinking in a rather nice section of Vienna, one which I had not frequently visited, and to which we had come with the purpose of sight-seeing, only to be swayed from our plan by the coming dusk, and by a flyer we picked up advertising a particularly rewarding drink special.