Madame Bombon fell in love when the raindrops collided with firefly wings. She knew someone had been watching her at the bar and that it wasn’t just another horny man. The look she felt on her face and body was different. It penetrated her bones and it tickled her muscles. Her fingernails were shaking and she started to sing a little song: Here in the dark, in these final hours. I will lay down my heart... She was waiting for a perfect moment to return his glance. John was his name. He was a never ending poem, the one you’d remember even if you weren’t a poetry lover. Everyone remembered his face, so delicate with Jewish nose and blue eyes that somehow looked deep into you. John’s words and his body knew how to love while his heart was laminated. There was something about Madame Bombon that absolutely contained John’s concentration. The way her eyelashes moved to a certain melody, the way she inhabited the space so smoothly with a tiny bit of aggression and a complete resignation for life outside. There was nothing, nowhere she wanted to explore or be. Madame Bombon was exactly where she was supposed to be. And this sense of belonging somewhere made John ache for her. They could have been happy and had a perfect life together but of course they didn’t. Life is just not like that.