I saw you at the 7/11. You were in front of my at the checkout. You bought a 24-case of Coors and a couple Jacklink pepperoni sticks. I knew you were embarrassed when you let out the daintiest fart. You shouldn’t be. I’d give anything to have that milky jalapeño scent waft its way up my nostrils again. I didn’t see a ring on your finger, so I hope to hear from you soon.