I poured the drink, and I sat down, and I started the book. Not far, mind you. But I've got the main character. His name is Mike. He lives in a cabin in the woodsy mountains outside a small college town. And here's what I've decided about Mike: he's going to kill somebody. Not in real life, of course. But in my novel. He's going to murder...somebody. I just don't know who yet.

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Mike Case was a good man, mostly. He usually told the truth. And he often was faithful to women. Whenever he committed one of the seven deadly sins, he felt bad about it almost every time. He said his prayers whenever he was scared about his own mortality. The minister at the church in town even knew him by name. And he'd call him by it every Christmas and Easter. Yes, as men go, Mike was a pretty good one...

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And I think about how the day before I had been crying into my hardwoods, scratching at the floor and thinking of the best way to die. And how the night before I held that bartender down on the dirty floor of the supply closet at the Main Street Tavern (I'm stronger than I look) and I rode that drink-slinger's Salty Dog until it wept.

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My dad used to tell me there were two Rita's. I never really knew what he meant by that, but I always felt vaguely guilty about it. But he assured me it was a "gift." He said he had two "hims," as well. He also said I would be like him one day. And Christ, I hope that isn't true. Because both "hims" were killed by a black bear as they were escaping from their mistress's second-story window. See? Turns out at least one of his hims was an idiot. I have a deep suspicion I'm harboring one of those myself. An idiot. Excuse me: a gift.

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So this morning he came back. Mike, I mean. I considered not answering again, but figured that might get awkward. I opened the door in white pajamas, the top casually unbuttoned, revealing and covering, like a wish. I hadn't looked at my hair, but I knew it was pleasingly disheveled. Men have told me I look sexy in the morning. Like I don't know this? Like I don't know exactly what the fuck I look like in the morning?

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Of course, there's Mike. I could see him. But some things seem too dangerous, even for somebody like me. I'm old enough to know a man like him is no good for me. I'm also old enough to know that that's what makes him the perfect kind. Also, I've already fucked myself twice today. So...there's that. And besides, I'd have to shave my legs.

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